[ WP ] Describe the first person you ever fell in love with .

If we're going to talk romance, I'll tell you what she was n't: pretty. 
 
 The first time I saw her, I immediately applied the word `` skinny'' to her. I try to avoid that word; it's not a positive way of describing a woman. But she was small, and there was n't much to her. It was n't the slender of a young woman, nor the fitness of an athlete. It was a hard-looking lack of fat. This was a woman who could blow away in a breeze, but would likely break my wrist if I tried anything funny. I knew from the start that I would n't find her attractive. 
 
 Her voice is n't very nice. While not nasal or shrill, it is at best only sort of there. She sings in a manner that, if I'm honest, is a bit melodramatic and unbecoming. She laughs silently, because if she laughs out loud, it's hardly the most demure sound. Instead, she'll sort of... Thrash? When a joke is funny enough that people are falling over laughing, she will, too. But quietly. 
 
 She's a sour individual. She has a sense of humor, but it's a bit on the dark end of things. I can get her to laugh ( or at least smile ) at some of my jokes, but that does n't mean she's very sunny of disposition. She's not. She has serious opinions about things, and does n't really care much for when she thinks people are being stupid, which tends to be quite a lot. She's touchy, and dare I say she bristles? Like a metaphorical porcupine. 
 
 She wears leather coats. She wears boots with large tread and cat eyes-and-ears. She wears a winter cap in all sorts of weather. One with Jack Skellington on it. She wears long skirts and T-shirts that believe the neckline belongs right next to the next. She wears jeans. She wears flannel. 
 
 Her face is not youthful. I did n't know how much older than me she was until some time later, but she clearly had age that I did n't. Not lined, but perhaps worn. She rolls her eyes, or sometimes her eyelids flutter strangely -- certainly not in a manner that's all that comfortable or attractive to watch. I see it a lot with her, largely when I'm trying to be funny. 
 
 She dances. Sinuous, deliberate, seductive, personal, spur-of-the-moment. I could never dance with her, because that's not how she moves. There's no room for an oaf like me to lumber around her when she answers to whatever music takes her. 
 
 She writes. Fantasy, with plenty of sarcastic characters around to be snide about everything. Her women are self-reliant, her men handsome and taken-or-left as she so chooses. She has swashbucklers and slashers and witches who make chocolate rabbits with chicken legs. 
 
 She hates where she is, and ca n't leave. She does n't like what she does, but it's all that's there for her. She holds in her frustration, and wo n't share it with me. 
 
 She is herself. 
 
 My God, she is beautiful.
