There was always something about her that made her look like she was glowing.

A summer's day could hardly compare to the warmth that she possessed.

The very flowers that filled her lungs with air looked frail and diminished at her side.

You wouldn't notice—at first glance—that she had Polish roots.

Her silky hair, bright as the sun, softer than Cashmere, made one think of some Northern European heritage.

Yet Polish she was, and fluent too, which always drove me crazy.

I loved her.

I can remember the first day of Latin; the way she'd get confused.

Or whenever I tried to tell her something,

If ever I should for a moment pause, she grew suspicious, always said, "Wait, what?"

She loved me.

She stood so tall, so strong, so proud. She always was so proud.

Incredibly smart, athletically gifted, her pride was so well-founded.

I remember her smell; fruity and sweet, her perfume, on letters, she'd entrap.

The first one I got, it drove me mad, I kept it close every day.

I love her.

Her voice was different than you would expect, a register slightly lower.

But still, it was dreamy.

A touch of realism filled her sound, but it was drowned out by her joy.

Her smile was more than one could imagine, it held the glow of each star.

She never stopped smiling, she loved being happy; my heart broke whenever she cried.

She hates me.

Her world consisted of those she was close to, it was theirs to cherish, alone.

Should anyone care to know the secrets of love, they would not be learnt from her.

Secrets were the way she lived, she loved privacy.

Not the wrong kind, where someone gets hurt; just to keep the world guessing.

Talking was her pass time, arguing, mainly, on subjects big and small.

Silence was fine too, too much was not.

I lost her.

Life thrives the way she goes, her path has never varied.

So certain she was, two years ago, and she does remain so.

Her skills are unwavering, her talent unmatched, where she stands, she stands alone.

Envy and desire follow her trail, but by them, she couldn't be bothered.

Her standards are high, and be so, they should, for she's a quality woman.

She will prosper, find joy and success, her future is so clearly written.

And if she read this, she might know, by her, I'm still clearly smitten.

But as the way goes, she goes away, our time was a day long ago.

Be thankful, for the time she lends: it will be the best time you ever spend.

I miss her.