This is what we have been writing about, isn’t it?
The incredibly continues feeling of light in ones stomach
followed by nausea that can only be explained as “hopeful”.
Where upon first sight, one would not want to see any other.
Either death or blindness would be welcomed, for the last
sight they gazed was pure beauty.

Beauty.  A word seeming so inadequate to compare
something so wonderful.  To dare to undermine
what you have, what you are, could only be comparable to

This light that one spends an entire lifetime hoping to gaze upon
was stood in front of me.  A light that danced with an energy
that could have set the room ablaze.  An energy so fluid, any hope
of containing it was lost with her words.  Her magnificent, orchestral

“Nice to meet you.”