The details of your beauty are too rich to be memorized at all times. I recall them a second, and forget them the next. Then comes the reconstruction.
Your eyes, I swear, were made not to see but to be seen. Your lips, pinkish-red, were portals that I wished would never close only to have a valid excuse to examine them more. Your cheeks held your sleepy eyes high and connected them flawlessly to your taking lips.
Every time I see you, I get to be amazed by your beauty as if I have never seen you before. And every time, my heart beat accelerates trying to carry me next to you.
The hardest thing to do in my case is to not do anything, to feel the presence of your soul while realizing it is not time for it to meet mine yet. But I will wait, I will bite my lips and watch you from afar, for a beauty like you is not to be rushed.
Je vous aime, mademoiselle, mais je dois attendre.