She walks into the room of singles and the world tilts. Not like that (exactly). But she has that… bearing about her, and you know immediately she is different. And over the night that hunch is proven correct. She’s educated and successful and accomplished and talented and knowledgable and fierce. Ever so fierce. And beautiful. Breathtakingly, jaw-droppingly, with a mane of curly hair that makes me want to weep with envy.

Some women might find the admiration awkward, but she doesn’t, we spar and play over it, and it’s a blast. She’s not vain about my fondness for her, she’s just badass enough to accept it for what it is.

She is seemingly effortlessly what so many women wish to be, what I will never be, but can appreciate freely. How can you not appreciate art? Beauty?

Life is dark enough. I don’t want to nitpick someone’s imperfections, I’d rather revel in the perfection of who they truly are.

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