As I gaze upon her, I see a masterpiece veiled by the brush strokes of past hardships. Her exterior, a canvas of resilience, conceals the delicate watercolors of her soul. The cruel whispers of her so-called father have varnished her heart, obscuring the radiance within beneath a dark hue.

Beneath the layers of trauma, a rosebud waits, its petals folded, vulnerable to the gentle touch of understanding. Yet, the thorns of her past guard the entrance, making any attempts to reach it seem an impossible task.

My heart, desperate for discovery, yearns to map the uncharted territories of the reality that exists within her. I long to decipher the hidden language of her eyes, a beauty that seems dark and obscure, yet intrigues me so.

But fear's dark whisper haunts me: "Beware, lest your touch shatter her fragile porcelain heart." Her purest form is like moonlit mist, easily dispelled by careless hands.

I tremble with reverence as I breathe, my soul whispers promises: to handle her heart with silken gloves, to cradle her beauty as a delicate flower. For in her hidden radiance, I've discovered a treasure worthy of a lifetime's devotion.

Her eyes, like ancient, worn stone, hold secrets and stories untold. I long to unearth the treasures hidden within, to bath in the gentle warmth of her hidden light.

With every beat, my heart echoes a tender refrain: "May my love be the gentle rain that soothes her parched soul, may my touch ignite the spark that sets her beauty free."

Yet, the fear lingers: will I prove worthy of this trust? Can I temper my passion with kindness, my desire with compassion? Or will my eagerness shatter the fragile balance, destroying the very essence I seek to unveil?

In this tender quest, I'll tread the narrow path between reverence and ruin. For in her hidden beauty, I've discovered a love that demands nothing less than the gentlest of touches.

© Robert Young