It's not for who she once was, it's for who she wants herself to be. For everything she chose to see. The old soul she was born with, with every breath marks history. The heart that sees in paradisiacal ways, the one that sets you free. She'll take your every blink of tear, every mourn, every sigh and replace them with wishes, with love, with a smile. She'll wake you up at midnight, when time is but a grain of dust lost among the stars. She'll let you sleep on quiet afternoons, so she can tend her scars. She will never need you, or whatever this planet has yet to offer her, but let it be, let her be – for she yearns for being wanted, not being a necessity. She is her own kind of beauty, not pretty nor, in a way, blinding. She speaks beyond beautiful, beyond the eyes - beyond seeing. She is for who she is, my love. She is more to the universe than just being this. Mesmeric, she truly is.
YOU ARE READING
Paper & Ink |#Wattys2016|
Poetry"I am the black on white; the ink on paper." A collection of my nightly thoughts and daydreams. Highest rank: #5 in Poetry. Please enjoy reading and find a friend in one of my works. :)
