I tend to be inherently good at stringing together a collection of syllables, in order to create something beautiful. I’m no stranger to the act of writing stories, and letters, and sonnets about the girls I claimed to love. I have described them as everything from powerful ocean waves to jaw dropping cotton candy sunsets.
But when I try to write about her, all that comes to mind is the fact that I fall asleep instantly in her arms, and that there is nowhere I’d rather be, than by her side for the remainder of my days. That I love her, in the realest and most grounded sense of the phrase. There are no misguided metaphors comparing her smile to the brightness of a thousand suns, because no matter how hard I try, she is the first girl I can’t seem to put into words.