Am I beautiful because I am wanted by others, or am I wanted by others, because I am beautiful?
Is my beauty my purpose?
Or is it the storm lingering in my heart that drives my each and every move, action and every thought?
What
does
it
mean
to
be
beautiful?
Those three syllables, nine letters and five vowels . . . . . what power do they hold beyond the contort of a smile?
A smile, that isn't even real?
Would that explain why
the sun strayed and shone
his enthralling light
on the Earth instead?
Because I was
a mere crescent moon?
Never full?
Never enough?
Oh, what a complex paradox it is,
to be wanted but not loved.
𖦹
He doesn't want me close,
I don't want him gone,
I choose to be in the
periphery of his life,
whether that's in touch,
and never in love.
( inspo - Kamilla Tolnø )
𖦹
Why didn't you stop me
before I fell in too deep?
Why didn't you pause your orbit and focus solely on burning your beauty on the remnants of my heart?
