she passes the halls with a smile plastered on her porcelain face; she looked so happy, so carefree. You would look at her and think, "wow. what a lovely looking girl."
but it's funny. it really is. how somebody else thought of her that way too and said that to her personally. and with those small words, made her fall in love. and within days, she can't stop thinking about him. within weeks, she kept smiling his way. within months, she always talks about him. and at the end of the year, he'd pass by her, and she would look downwards--a tear in her eye, and a frown within her porcelain face.
but he still thinks she's lovely, even when he let her beautiful eyes form tears that stained his shirt. her rosy lips, tremble for the fear of speaking the words she doesn't want him to hear. her fragile little heart, which he broke over and over again.
he still thinks she's lovely, even after all the damage he'd done to her.
it's too bad that she doesn't think the same way to herself.
- a.g
YOU ARE READING
the dead poet's lover
Poetrythe very thought of you shatters me. and i am trying to fix myself once again.
