Missed

The eloquence escapes me when she is near. I want to convey my distant infatuation in some poetic way. Her fragrance hangs in the air like summer roses as I walk past her in the hall. She knows not of my awkward feelings toward her, and perhaps never will. My nerves always jumble my words as I build up the courage to speak to her. Her beauty and smile reaches me from far across the room. I daydream of speaking to her, but when she approaches, I fall short. I meander like a shy schoolboy. All I want to say is that I think she is an angel. I am worthy not of her grace and transient manner. Perhaps someday, with the right success and confidence, I can approach my angel, and tell her all the things I want to say. Hopefully, she will still be around. Or perhaps another prince will snatch her from my grasp; and my true love will never be found...