She was Summer, in name and in essence. She was the borderline between the mediocrity of spring of autumn. She contrasted in every aspect to the harsh malevolence of winter. She was the warmness that nurtured the flora to flourish. She was the benign energy that existed in the fauna that roamed the landscape. She was the life that caressed everything that had the fortune to be in this world. She was the laughter in a newborn. She was the sparkle in child's eye. She was all but a messiah anointed by the heavens to save humanity. She could control the seasons, and tame the sea. She could calm the weather and illuminate the darkness. She was Summer.

She was heavenly in appearance. She was the divine picture of all that is worldly and celestially considered beauty. Her delicate features and angelic face were framed by her golden hair. It cascaded down her hair back in bouts of the pure sunshine and warmth which she exuded. With every step she took, her locks daintily bounced about her presence, trying to reveal her existence as a superhuman. Her skin was flawless; not a blemish dare disturb the utter perfection that was she. The pigment of her skin only furthered her existence as a deity of summer: it was tanned, almost chocolate. If a single drop of sweat appeared, it would exemplify the delicious color tenfold. Her eyes harbored a profusion of color, barely comprehendible by the average man. The orbs shone in brilliant, lustrous shades of green. They were emeralds, encrusted in ivory, set into a statue of female perfection. She was Summer.

Her voice was that of the angels. It was a chorus of all the joy, pleasure and euphoria that was of this world. Her melodic tunes floated from her physical being to the endless sky above, spreading warmth and comfort with every syllable. They liquified in mortal's ears, seeping into the brain and causing a state of ecstasy not yet definable. Any object lucky enough to be held in her delicate grasp was treated with every amount of respect and gentleness she could possibly give. Her hands were miracle workers, from tickling a child to petting a dog. She had the world at her fingertips, and the world accepted it gladly. She was Summer.

She was Summer. She is Summer. I hope, with every ounce of my mortal soul, she will one day become my Summer.

This was kinda sappy, I know, and full of cliche. But it says exactly how I feel about my crush. (her name is Summer, just in case you didn't guess.) I posted this on FictionPress to see how well it was received. As soon as I get ten positive reviews for this, I will put this into Summer's locker at school and put my name on it. So I am asking you: do you think this is good enough? (I feel like my life is turning into a Molly Ringwald movie...which I kinda like!)