Her blonde hair dances in the wind like threads of gold, each strand as precious. Her eyes meet mine and she smiles. A smile so radiant she may as well be a drop of sunshine itself. I would not be surprised if I heard she cast no shadow. Her eyes search mine, as if trying to read the contents of my soul. I don’t feel scared. Being scared around someone like her would be like defying gravity. Her fingers touch my skin, feather light, but also somehow heavy. Heavy like a beam of sunshine that soaks beneath your skin, warming you inside out. Shes the kind of light that heals your soul. Yellow like the Coldplay song I played for her last summer in the back of my car. Yellow like the wildflowers growing in the fields near her place. Yellow like the lemonade we used to sell together. If her soul was a melody, if her soul had a taste, if her soul was a color you could see, it would be yellow.