Look closely into the fog and you will see a shadow slowly moving closer. A dark figure barely made out in the gloom. She looks left and right searching for something so elusive she cannot grasp. Spinning round and round the world all a tumble and all meaning as unclear as the fog that surrounds her. I watch this figure wishing I could help to clear the fog away and see the sparkle of her eyes once more. The smile that that brings forth mine, the voice that I can feel run through me like a chill. The world is not a perfect place and most of the beauty washed away in darkness. I am not a perfect person but this figure in the fog makes me want to be. If perfect ment I could help her even for a second to feel the pleasure of life that she used to wear like a cloak. Others see the perfect smile or the outer wrapping of such wondrous beauty. When I look into her eyes I see a cold winter night spent on a couch with only the lights of a simple tree keeping us company. A conversation that made the winter night less cold and a lack of perfection a little more perfect. Just to drape that cloak over her shoulders once more I would walk away leaving the fog parted as we did the same.