The first time is always the place to start, and there's a first time for everything. The start of this story begins in a cemetery, at which my dad is the one who buried people with the big claw things. (Don't ask me to elaborate. My dad has so many jobs that I can only halfway understand each of them. Or would it be that I could only understand them in fourths? Anyways.)
     You might be thinking that there can be no good news meeting a girl at a cemetery. Well, you're absolutely right. When I first met Hannah, her emotional state was corrupt and distant. It was the same when she passed, unfortunately. It was like the points of a line segment, the dots exactly alike, and the line between seems smooth until it comes to a sudden stop. Beginning and end. There is no difference.
      The matter at hand was that Hannah's beloved grandfather had died. Now, I might've been greatly sad when my great grandparents died, but Hannah must have had a deep relationship and passion for hers. Her sobbing could fill a waterfall, and I told myself it was loud and attention-seeking at the time. Never had I realized that Hannah cried nearly every time she knew or partially knew someone that died. That's how much she cared.
I watched the girl through careful eyes, making sure not to draw too much attention to myself. It pained me to see others suffering, but with Hannah it killed me. So naturally, the only way to comfort myself was to lie. Part of my brain told me it would be simple to go up to her and comfort her, but of course that was the unbelievably brave and mostly unused part of it.
Are you ready for us to meet and immediately fall in love, writing inexplicably brilliant poems to each other and having those greatly humorous moments you share together? You might have to wait a little bit longer. I was never a great romantic, and I was quite introverted. But I was quite a deeply passionate person for the things I noticed. I wanted to care so much more than I really did. As I raked leaves in the cemetery, I imagined me plucking a weed from the ground and coming up behind her, and whilst she cried I would put it on her grandfather's grave. Just something to show that she wouldn't grieve alone. But of course that was my weakness. I imagined that romantic scenes would always end up exactly like I had them played out in my head.
I was gravely reminded of a time I tried out my romantic fantasies on my ninth grade crush, Genevieve Gessin. I was going to ask her out in front of the whole school through a song. Yes, a good old 'homemade' song. Feel free to cringe, I know you want to. I would come off the stage and sing in her face, the words clearly asking her out. I don't remember the lyrics, but it was not great. I was just learning ukelele. Yep, ukelele, not classic guitar or just a microphone. Oh no, I had to bring out my little uke.
     But back to the subject at hand (let's just assume that Genevieve wasn't interested.) As Hannah sat, her tears mellowing, she just collapsed on the ground in front of the grave. My heart skipped at that moment, and I tried to take my eyes off of her. Hannah began whispering fiercely, her hands clasped together. At that moment my surprise was written all over my face. This girl's love and compassion was surreal. She sat praying in the open, so many emotions spilling off of her.
     And then at that moment the most amazing and beautiful thing happened. Her presence calmed, and she stopped rocking back and forth, finishing her prayer with a deep breath. Hannah's eyes were still closed and she still crouched over the grave, but everything was calm. I was swayed by watching this girl. You see so many people who give off this fake era of sympathy and all they want is the gushy, romantic love. This girl had fierce, fiery love burning deep inside her. That's when I first met her, and I didn't even have a conversation with her.
     But that's when I really decided she was beautiful. And no, we never did talk the first day we "met." But I experienced plenty.