(Remember those cute love letters that you used to get, that boy that liked you so much that he couldn't help but smile and stutter whenever he spoke to you? how lucky am i to be that girl that gets to be crushed on so sweetly and even get a poem written about me.) Ayanda Dolce. She had the kind of confidence to be mistaken for arrogance, The dimples on her cheeks had me running out of compliments and just by lending an ear to her, I could tell that her mind had travelled continents. The contours on her curves could tell stories on the footprints of old undiscovered jewels and I had planned to tap into this secret chest that holds her gold and maybe, just maybe get a taste of her honey... She is so mystically furnished; her lips are a symbol of fine art... I mean when she speaks! I hear music..... Her legs are the epitome of fine architecture..... I mean when she walks... I see equanimity.... The mysticism of the way her buns take turns in that