“You look as beautiful as the day I first met you.” I said with a soft, careful tone.
“...” She didn’t respond.
I had never thought I would witness someone so radiant.  So flawless in their presence that just being near someone could change their mood from groggy to ecstatic.  It never occurred to me that someone could be so perfect.  She walked with grace and in her wake a trail of desire followed.  Her gaze could mesmerize even the most unruly of beast.  She was beloved by everyone.  Not a single enemy in this world. 
I knew I had to make her mine.  To be near her set my heart on fire.  To speak to her made me swallow my tongue.  She could never love someone like me.  I was but a peasant worshipping a goddess.  I was not a rich man and I knew she deserved a palace.  I was not handsome beyond belief and she deserved a god.  I was not a strong man and she deserved someone who would carry the world for her.
I knew I couldn’t give her any of the things she deserved, but I couldn’t escape my feelings towards her.  She made me, in quite an understatement, happy.  The only thing I could hope for was to do the same for her.  If I didn’t chase her, I would never find out. 
Sweating profusely, I approached her.  I took my hand out of my pocket and shyly asked her name.  I looked like an idiot, wearing a suit that didn’t fit me right and a tie that felt like a noose.  I wore shoes that made me look like I was 80.  This wasn’t me, and she saw right through my disguise. 
“Carlota” she replied with a giggling grin. “And you?”
I didn’t think I’d even get this far.  I struggled for words.  Her beauty took my breath away.  Her dress was the finest shade of blue.  Her skin, pale, yet with definition and grace.  Her hair long, dark, and curly.  Her eyes were a reflection of the universe and I was lost. 
“Jack” I stumbled. 
She laughed again at my nervousness. 
“And how are you this fine evening ‘Jack?” she asked with confidence. 
“Well talking to you has made this evening scores better.  I hate balls.  I hate formal dress.  I hate this damn tie.  I’m sorry, I’m ranting.  How are you Mrs. Carlota?”
“It’s actually Ms. and I’m doing much better now having someone to talk to.”
We continued to talk like this for the entire night.  For hours we talked about our hope and desires, hatreds, and dislikes.  It was as if we had known eachother for years.  I had never been able to talk to someone so openly.  This girl was special, from her head to her toes, I would make her happy. 
56 years and 4 kids later, I still loved this woman, now Mrs. Carlota, she was mine.  She laid in the hospital bed struggling to breathe.  I held her hand and cried.  I could feel her weak pulse through the palm of her hand. 
“You look as beautiful as the day I first met you.” I said with a soft, careful tone.
The only response I received was the deafening flatline beep.