Don't compare her to sunshine and roses when she's clearly orchids and moonlight.

I swear that girl was born with a pen in her hand, the moon in her hair, and stars in her soul.

She's the kind of girl who brings you to the moon without you even being aware. The kind of girl you trip in love with, The kind of girl you never forget.

I could make love with you until the moon decides to never glow again.

Always the wild child, conceived in flames, born of fire. Drawn to the forbidden, witch, warlock, burning stones. Her blood is made of moonlight; part dark, part light. Her heart, it's a sword; fiercely loyal and will fight to the death for those whom she loves. You can throw her in the fire, she always returns as a flame: the fervor is her anchor, her safe-haven... her blood.

I would rather dance alone under the stars than spend a lifetime hiding behind the moon.

I swear that girl was born with a pen in her hand, the moon in her hair and stars in her soul.

I could make love with you until the mood decides to never glow again.

The moon glistens in her dreamy eyes as she frolics in the dark forest. She’s got wild overgrowing in her bones, and tangles upon tangles of midnight weaving through her long silky hair, this belle of the night.