The sun filtered through the honey blonde strands of her hair, illuminating her face from her position on the grass. Her skin still glowed from the raindrops that lingered upon the surface, collecting in her eyelashes and reflecting light into her amber irises, and I was reminded once again that she was beautiful.
She threw her head back and laughed, leaning against her arms and pressing more weight into the hands that she buried into the grass, and I struggled to remember what she was laughing at, unable to focus on anything but the sound of it. The sun rays streamed into the clearing like a golden blessing, pulling us into the light and further away from the rain that plagued us beforehand, but my hair remained damp and cold. The leaves around us were nearly translucent, glowing in the light, and though the ground remained dark and muddy, the atmosphere around us was far from it.
But despite the beauty that surrounded me, both in the air and in her eyes, I struggled to remember anything other than the storms that plagued my mind. She was the sun, radiant and all-encompassing, but I was sentenced to a lifetime of gloomy showers, held captive by the endless storm. We could watch each other in awe and curiosity, but we could not coexist.
*****
YOU ARE READING
Where Poems Come to Die
Poetryjust the little things that float into my head when i should probably be asleep.
