The Chaos Of A Human.Being

The Black Rose

The murmurs in the hallways and the words they kept repeating around; she's an ordinary face, she's just a girl, she's no different, yet he knew that her in particular was anything but "just a girl".
To him she stood out like a night gown purple almost black rose in a field of red ones, to him she held galaxies in her veins and stars in her gaze, to him she turned everything she looked at to magic.
To them she was the one with the dark as night hair and brown eyes, to him she was the depth of beauty they never understood in literature class.

He couldn't say she was pretty.
She didn't have incredible green eyes that welcomed warmth and raised goosebumps. She didn't have sharp features that grabbed attention and caught stares. She didn't have an hour glass figure that turned heads and received double takes. He wouldn't say she was pretty; because to be able to define her thoughts and her crooked smile he would have to run out of all the words that describe beauty in detail.
She was beautiful in every definition and every synonym that word ever had.
Beautiful down to the core of a beauty of a rare black rose that no one appreciates until it stands out in between all the other familiar one.

Watching the crack of dawn after a long, tossing and turning night was how he felt when her lips started twitching in a smile. Like the first flower that blooms indicating that it's spring. Like the light of a handful of fireworks on the 4th of July and all the other beautiful beginnings that are born.

Bringing light into her eyes felt like bringing a new life in this world pure and gracious, giving him the wings that broke down way before his journey started and before the concept of flying crossed his mind.
She'd given him a pair that he could never grow himself, removing all the weights of the burdens that latched unwillingly on him, and it was enough for him to feel whole when he was in the presence of her undeniable gravity.

Looking forward to seeing her was like the stare of a seven year old waiting for his promised candy after being polite.
Was more than a thirteen year old who's experiencing first crush sparks.
Was the delight of a fifteen year old whose crush sent a smile their way while walking down the hallway.
Was more than the excitement of a sixteen year old looking for the approval of that one girl in everything he's doing.
And was by all means more than a desperate eighteen year old trying to find warmth in the face of a girl he didn't like while being confused about his feelings for another shooting star that hits hin with the strongest pull and hypnotizing eyes.

It was hardest to love her, when she was a billion things to love.
When loving only a piece of her was a disregard to the rest of her galaxy.
He couldn't be worthy of her, her and her magic touches and the galaxies in her veins, almost afraid of being unfair to one of her vulnerable layers in fear to lose the masterpiece in his rugged hands.
Yet she made him whole by the sound of her breaths and her lingering scent.

The ordinary in everyone's eyes was the beautifully spectacular in his.
He saw her in a light they could never fathom how it shined.
Because it's always likely to love the beautiful but beautiful to love the likely.

And he couldn't compete next to an outstanding black rose when he felt like the unwelcome burnt out weed...