It was thirteen years ago, when I saw this beautiful woman for the very first time. She walked into the building as I observed her from the window. Her hair, shinny as the light of day reflected her warmth. Her curves moved as a love ballad on a winter's day, as if the Indian summer broke in May, or the summer's day whimpered a smile, and left the everlasting impression. She moved, with excitement in each step, and broke the fear I once held, as the surprise of her beauty upheld the image once told. I looked at her with an ideal, a sort of moment etched in memory, to make the first impression everlasting. When she finally came inside, there was this view beyond the image on her approach. She was drop dead gorgeous, with colored eyes tempered with jewels of wealth, and a set of lips only God selectively issue to those special women. 

Finally I got a chance to approach and offer a hand of friendship. When she spoke, her earlier phone voice gave nothing of justice; it was sweeter than the sound of morning birds in song, and touching as a child's laughter. She spoke to me and I forgot earlier conversations. Her hand was soft, silk in the making, but smooth as laden fibers only royalty would possess. We spoke and smiled, I flustered with internal heat, expecting to blow the very words to entice a further interaction. Then the words started and my eyes watched her lips move with a response. I read every word as if a lip reader, imagining more, and the mistake was looking into her eyes just in time for my response. She locked me, with her eyes.

Those few moments became the catalyst of intrigue, a vision I could only live once. She knocked me right where it counted, and left me smiling as the day lingered. It was the first time in limited speech, and yet, it was a time when the words were just as imagined. I called her shortly after our meeting, and the call was sprinkled with desire; a desire for more as if hunger landed upon my heart. I wanted more, just to see her beauty again. I wanted to listen to her voice and watch her curves move. I wanted more.

Life brings gifts to many and as I sit here, the realization lands upon my heart and mind, sharing wisdom of her being my gift. Of which I am grateful. To once have her and lose her was a mistake. Yet, I'm still grateful for the experience to love, to love a beautiful woman and enjoy the soul and spirit only found upon those who are God's true gifts.