I see her face even in my dreams. I don't even have to try.
Imagine eyes like pearls, set into perfect shimmering stone. Their colour is a pale gray flecked with green. Something that should not work together, but makes something unique instead. Oh, her eyes!
Her hair is dark, a river of black that lets no light through: It’s like looking at a waterfall of oil, like looking at the finest threaded mane. It cups her cherubim face, and her expression is one that makes me forget which side my heart it’s on: So much does it shift to the other that I cannot know this. Sometimes the sight of them makes me forget to hear the world around me.
She smells like autumn rain: It's a scent of nature saying goodbye to the warm summer and hello to winter. It's a scent that evokes such wistful feelings of distance and melancholy that I feel she must be a Dryad on a journey to some place one can never know of or understand. I have a brain, she is not perfect.
Perhaps she is not a goddess, but she is in the realm of the spiritual and the unknown.
I know what life is. I know that there are starving children on the planet. I think of the evil the world has and try not to be it, but I am it: I am in love. Samantha is her name.
She talks to me, sometimes, and I feel myself jump even as I struggle to get the words out through my laptop.
I've been paraplegic for two years now. I think between my sunny personality and the fact that Hawking is such a role model I can survive this school life well enough. Besides, I am someone who knows his ways around numbers. Thank goodness for technology and the scientific world that judges a man by the worth of his brain. Without these I would be worth nothing. My family loves me, and I am thankful.
I know I will never even be able to imagine being with her. For I am ugly. But I live for those moments I meet her in the hallway, all the little conversations, all the little smiles.
They are worth it. So much more than worth it.