I’ve been told perhaps a million times that perfection cannot be achieved.

I’ve been told that nothing will every be completely satisfactory, that there would always be some cost at the end.

I’ve been told that life is bittersweet, and more like spring than summer.

I’ve been told a lot of things, but I have never been told a thing about love.


She was beautiful in perhaps every way, but she could never be perfect. She was kind and gentle, but when she got angry, kind and gentle was forgotten. She smiles and laughs, but beneath it, there lies some sadness that can never be forgotten.

Her name is Jane.



I saw her in my History class, working so hard on her homework and studying as if her life depended on it. I saw her light red-blonde hair, her grey-blue eyes, her pale skin, and her artist’s hands. I saw her bite her lip while she was concentrating and run one of those artist’s hands through her hair, which was always carefully parted to the side. I saw her furrow her dark eyebrows as she read. I saw her cross and uncross her legs, never finding the position that was comfortable.

I saw an imperfect girl.


I heard her speech, fast and with the accent that hinted at her birthplace in London, England. I heard her small laugh as she read a humorous passage in her book. I heard her talk about all the books she’s read, all the people that she has seen, all the world she has seen so far. I heard her talk about fun times with family and friends back in London, about the days spent indoors when it was raining and all the times spent outside in the city. I heard her talk about her life, at least what she allowed others to hear.

I heard the wonders of a foreigner.


I smelled the faint perfume of snickerdoodles she herself had baked, the faintest trace of cinnamon. I smelled the aroma of the city that drifted wherever she went. I smelled peanut butter and chocolate, oranges and grapefruit whenever she passed by.

I smelled the unique fragrance of Jane.


I met a girl who likes The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, Nickel Creek, Jack Johnson, Andrew Bird, Loreena Mckennitt, O-Zone, and Arcade Fire. I met a girl who likes to bake, likes to read, likes to draw, likes to swim, like to meet new people. I met a girl who loves the sun, but loves it when it rains. I met a girl who calls England home, and America an adventure. I met a girl who likes to dance and sing, who rejoices in whatever life gives her. I met a girl who becomes frustrated over her own small flaws, like pride and vanity. I met a girl who loves music. I met a girl who likes to wear a yellow sundress over her black skinny jeans then go run about in the rain and dance in the mud with her bare feet.

I met a girl named Jane.


I fell in love with an imperfect girl, with a wondrous foreigner, with a girl named Jane.