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She is Helen and Pygmalion, Juliet and Joan of Arc, wrapped into a package of comfort and joy. She is a paradox of all things woman.

When I pine for her, she succors me. When I anger her, she forgives me. She is an artist, a scientist, an athlete, a master of the binary arts.

Her hands hold me lightly, burning me in the fires of her brilliance. Never have I beheld such wonder in one woman. Never have I been party to such majesty, such beauty, such complexity of wit and simplicity of charm. I love her. She is perfection, mortal and ephmeral, human and eternal.

She is cursed and blessed, she is broken and she is sublime, she is everyone's and yet she is mine.