I've been sitting her for a while, wondering what to say, how to captivate true beauty into the words I posses. Try as I might, and I've tried long enough, I can't come up with anything that would truly portray that which only she can posses. I used to be good at this, or so I though. Maybe I'm still good at it but its her that has overpowered my abilities and left my soul in a blissful shock. Or maybe, just maybe, it isn't what I see that inspires me so but rather her mystery, the thing that makes her so. If I could I would write in my words but as you can see, I'm not good anymore. Maybe Keats would fare better than I, though I don't think he would come close what it is that I'm trying to say. One day, maybe, my words will flow and my thoughts will become coherent enough to take advantage of my skill and let them all come together. One day, I shall let the world know what it is that I am trying to explain, for so much beauty can't go unnoticed, shouldn't be forgotten.
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