Yes, her hair is a fiery red, like the furnace of love kindled and now growing in my heart. Her skin is lovely, her face the shape of perfection. She is as guileless as a newborn lamb, as sweet as sugar, and as honest as a newly-fallen snow on an early Pennsylvania morning. She carries many things in her purse, like mustard packets, two ipods, ear plugs, a mini tennis shoe, and three types of hand lotion--but do not let this mislead you! Never! She merely likes to be prepared. She has a most lovely voice, like an echoing wind swirling through a deep cavern, bewitching the creatures that lurk therein, and putting them into a deep slumber of peace. But for me it is not so, but rather, behold: her soft, sweet voice raises in me the strongest fury of innocent, pure, passionate desire. And like the sad and decaying leaves smashed underfoot in the forest of my heart, so do I feel when a video of hers comes to an end. The sadness, the depression! I must see if, perchance, something can come of this connection I feel between us. I also think she's pretty.