You were 19, I was 10. Yet I could not help falling for you. Hopelessly, that too.
You taught me to fall in love with the drops of sweat that ran down that patrician nose. To pine for those firm hands that you used to wield your weapon. To admire your compass-precise grace when you accepted trophy after winner's trophy after ruthlessly vanquishing your opponents. To dream of those flowing golden tresses.
You are the reason why, despite his immense talent, I disliked your husband almost as much as I hated Monica Seles.
Happy birthday, Stefanie Maria Graf. I shall refrain from adding your other surname. I wish every man a first heartbreak as beautiful as you. Long Live The Queen.
You taught me to fall in love with the drops of sweat that ran down that patrician nose. To pine for those firm hands that you used to wield your weapon. To admire your compass-precise grace when you accepted trophy after winner's trophy after ruthlessly vanquishing your opponents. To dream of those flowing golden tresses.
You are the reason why, despite his immense talent, I disliked your husband almost as much as I hated Monica Seles.
Happy birthday, Stefanie Maria Graf. I shall refrain from adding your other surname. I wish every man a first heartbreak as beautiful as you. Long Live The Queen.
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