She had made several perfect men and women cross paths with me. She was about to give up when she found a needle in the Haystack. You. You're so perfectly imperfect, quirky, and all around adorable. She makes us cross paths in the most clichè way possible. I was walking down the street, newly purchased books in hand, when I bumped into you, dropping all my books. We stutter out apologies and pick up the books, touching hands and looking each other in the eyes, and blush darkly.