Once I met a someone,

A boy to be exact - the world's most talented artist.

And he asked of me -

"Describe me an angel.

Describe to me that which is perfect."

He placed a pen to paper,

Eyes ready on me to begin.

"Hair," I answered him,

"That constantly falls in their face,

A color that confuses me -

So I cannot tell if it is blond or brown,

(Or possibly something in between).

Eyes, a subtle green-blue,

Shimmering with life, and kindness,

Capible of instilling love, and fear when needed.

And lips, a soft pink,

Something that one can lust for,

They are perfect, either speaking or smiling.

The tall graceful body of a dancer,

Thin, and beautiful - and yet strong.

Arms that were meant to hold those they love,

Legs that could carry them weightlessly at point.

Swathed in ebony, and reds,

With ribbons and chains."

I looked at him with a smile,

He passed me the page.

I shook my head and laughed.

For it looked nothing like the one I love.

"What is wrong with it?

I drew exactly as you described."

He had indeed, but I still laughed at him.

He was neive.

"You only forgot the dreams that give her the wings.

The pain on her soul that she weathered with me.

The devotion she has to all that she cares about.

And the one thing that you could never draw -

The love that she has for me."