If she were a season, she’d be spring. Bright, sunny, full of life. If she were a flower, she’d be the rose. Beautiful and dainty. If she were a wine, she would be the champagne. Effervescent and tangy. Different strokes, for different folks. I still reminisce and cherish that day, the first time I ever laid eyes on her as she walked into the classroom. My mouth, I was told, had formed a perfect 'O'. She was gorgeous. Everything about her seemed so perfect, that somewhere deep inside the chasms of my heart, something tingled and sent a jolt of electricity running through my entire body, charging me with a rush of hormones coursing through my veins, a feeling I had never experienced before. My heart, it seemed, was hammering in my chest, and all of a sudden I became cautious that maybe others could hear it beat too. I could feel the heat off my face, as I blushed red like a ripe tomato in the prime time of its harvest. Try as I might to not glance at her, it seemed as