She is not the sun.
No one will compare her to a summer's day.
She is not a blazing star,
nor is she a bright burning flame.
She is the moon:
gentle,
quiet,
peaceful.
She does not shine by day.
She does not burn strongly for
all to see.
She is darkness.
She is soft.
She shines brightest at night,
when she's alone in her room,
crying softly into her pillow.
She is most honest in that
moment.
She is vulnerable.
She may not blaze and
burn through life,
but damn,
she sure is beautiful.
