He looked at her like she was the most beautiful, precious entity on earth--and, God, she was. She was fire. There was no use in trying to contain her because she obliterated everything in her path. As alluring and eye catching as flickering flames, she turned every head the room. She was what men wanted and what women wanted to be. She was breathtaking in every sense of the word. Radiant and glowing and knew of the destruction she left on others. It was a sin to love her. Her words were wind, some delicate and others destructive but always necessary. She was never a breeze or a drizzle she was a hurricane and lightening storms. Her silence was thunder, abrupt in the darkness and terrifyingly loud. She was his beautiful nightmare and he didn't want wake. Her eyes were his world. Her laughter: his breath. He drank from the words she'd say and she never seemed to disappoint. To call her beautiful was an insult because she wasn't just beautiful; she was infinitely more than that. She defied laws of standard beauty and exceeded every expectation. She was a storm--his storm--and he then understood why they named hurricanes after people.
