I know an amazing girl. This may seem like an effortless, extraordinary-free statement, but to me it is the world and so
much more. She is, in fact, singularly important to me. This girl is more, in my eyes, than any soul has ever seen measures of amazement. Such joy it brings me to see her each day, if only for a moment. To call such a sight beautiful would require one to have seen the world, some would say. But it is not a word that creates emotions, but the feeling and meaning that it implies. By all that is stunning, she stands amongst them soaring, so beautiful the Seven Wonders of the World and all the proclaimed eighth wonders, so feign, cry because they will never know her grace.
I know an enchanting lady. True, it is not much different from my previous statement, but I believe she deserves more, finer words… no, notions! Emotions! Exploding! With every commotion of my dilapidated brain, crazed when dawning the thoughts that strain to comprehend her beauty compared to all the great wonders of the world and the eighths, so feign. She is a Lady, more enchanting and heavenly than even the Lord himself. Should my breathless corpse be buried alone and my soul float to the red fiery prison pits of hell, I shall see it a worthwhile expense and not one shall see me hesitate. The idea of theology is a lackluster portion of any man’s life playing upon providence and prostitution of my mind, soul, and heart, forcing on me the proposal that there is a procrastinating power beyond our sight proceeding every day to persecute and prosecute any sad soul daring enough to defy His mighty commandments. What purpose does this serve to me? What reason do I have to believe in this idea of universal proportions when I can see someone I hold in much higher reverence right in front of me? Not one, I state. I do, however, reserve the belief that I never will. And I, in God’s ears, say there is no indecision in this.
I know a miraculous woman. Twice reiterated, this stands unwavering. She is all the things I once believed angels could be. When I see her smile, her countenance when music, a magnificent melody, entrances her, and her eyes when I look into them, I feel empowered and concurrently weak. Her eyes, most of all, spell the word splendor in more ways than my own captivated eyes dare my speechless mouth to explain.
I know a boundless beauty. Some would say I must travel the world over to say this. I don’t care. What right do they have to expel from my heart what I believe to be the loveliest thing I have ever known? None, I state, and I reserve the right to believe so.
May I go so far as to commit the Seven Deadly Sins if it would grant me privilege to say the Seven Wonders of the World are excellent, and she beautiful in the eyes of humans. May I go so far as to defeat an unparalleled army, unaided and alone, if the spoils of war are she. May I cross an ocean or part a sea if she resides on the opposite shore. And may not one man with a tongue filled with discrepancy say, in my hour of highest admiration for the girl I call a lady, for the lady I call a woman, for the woman I so rightly call a beauty, that I am a fool and that my emotions, like all the eighth wonders, are feign, and I am insane. I am sane. Who, in any respect, has the right to differ? No one, I state, and I forever shall reserve the right to believe so.