The girl I love says she wants a love larger than life. She's always lost in fantasies. Her pretty head is always stuck between pages of heavy book that look too big for her delicate hands. She recites poetry like prayers, even in her sleep, I imagine. She's so luminous it hurts too look at her sometime, and I wish I could tell her she's as extraordinary and as grand as the fictional characters she always praises, for she is real, full of flesh and blood, and sweet, honeyed imagination, and I love her so much, I want to give her a love larger than life.
