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ok, to me the main problem here is that you're leading her on. That's what makes you not shallow, but a little bit insensitive.
People call it shallow but the fact is you have to be physically attracted to someone else to some degree for things to work, at least for most of us this is a necessity. I do think it is true that beauty is relative, sometimes you can fall for someone in every way and then the looks side of it is only improved by that. I'm sure most of you can relate to this.
I'd say you're shallow if you let looks rule every decision you make about dating others - which I'm thinking is not the case. But if you are, plenty of people out there are the same my friend. Just make sure that if you're demanding high standards with regards to your partners, you can also deliver the goods, otherwise you're living in dream land.
You need to be honest with yourself and with her. It's not fair to her to pretend you think she's great when really at the back of your mind you're constantly thinking "she's great but her nose is a little off". If she's so great, let her go find someone who appreciates her and is worth her time. I'm not saying you're not great, but you're obviously not great together if that's how you feel. She definitely won't thank you if you're hanging around because you feel sorry for her. In fact she'll hate you for underestimating her strength and worth.
My advice is be honest with yourself, cut her loose, and find what you want.
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Whether we write or speak or do but look
We are ever unapparent. What we are
Cannot be transfused into word or book.
Our soul from us is infinitely far.
However much we give our thoughts the will
To be our soul and gesture it abroad,
Our hearts are incommunicable still.
In what we show ourselves we are ignored.
The abyss from soul to soul cannot be bridged
By any skill of thought or trick of seeming.
Unto our very selves we are abridged
When we would utter to our thought our being.
We are our dreams of ourselves, souls by gleams,
And each to each other dreams of others' dreams.
Fernando Pessoa, 1918
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