Should my mind wander from thoughts of her, it is allowed but the briefest of recesses… before, without any real intention on my part, I simply find that I have been thinking of her, and little else, for some previous segment of time which is hard to measure.

And it isn’t as though I am thinking ˚specific˚ thoughts about her, but rather, it seems that all thought finds itself reflected in my vision of her, as though she were its true and rightful mirror.

One senses the world itself awakening around her, thriving in her vicinity… as if nothing more than the mere possibility of her fellowship was cause to flourish…

And this is perfectly reasonable. She is breathtaking. To behold her is to be captivated by a maelstrom of wonder; in her gaze it is a nearly palpable force; inchoate, and exquisite.