Hopefulness

Have You Ever Seen a Dying Star?

Look in the window.

Do you see that?

It's catching bits of sun and sparkling.

It falls and splits like a drop of rain.

Another, so soon?

What is the source?

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It's so clear it looks sweet, but it's salty.

It's a tear.

I must see the source.

Something so delicate and fragile must have such a beautiful beginning.

I follow the stream up a pale cheek and see a deep maze of brindled eyes. Café au lait, but only a little.

The maze surrounds it's center, the precarious abyss. It goes on forever, this deep, unrelenting, and raw feeling. Pain, and hope. That is what is in the middle.

Drift below to see an elegant curve of full, but modest lips. A wonderful color. Not too bold or flaunted, but a soft and sweet delight nevertheless.

The face has many features, but even if I wrote in detail the whole and sui generis beauty that lies in it, you would not be able to grasp the strength behind it. You can never understand the beauty even when you see the very beloved face itself.

This is why even though the figure belonging to the face is breathtakingly flawless, I could never make you understand how it would make you swoon unlike anyone has ever done before. You would die.

Now another tear drop.

There's a puddle on the windowsill.

The eyes blink and a feminine hand shakes, wanting to wipe the tear but she is stopped by fear.

She doesn't think she deserves to have her tears dried so she lets them burn and cool as they stream on her cheeks, on her lips, and down her chin.

The lips tremble and the breathing is uneasy.

I'm watching so much beauty.....why is it hurt?

Who damaged this masterpiece?

This is a young woman. She is beautiful.

I've told you of her outward beauty, but can you handle what lies inside?

Understanding. She understands who she is. She doesn't like it. But when she sees others similar (note none compare to the beauty of this particular girl) she sees the grandeur. She holds eminence in her mind. When she sees others almost alike, even she admits they are precious. She loves them. 

She doesn't love herself. As I see it, with my humble eyes that wince when beholding her magnificence, if she can see her beauty in others, but not herself, someone else is to blame. Someone lied to her. And she believed them.

This is a girl wise beyond her gracious years. She diffuses solemnity. She emits wisdom. She cries pain. She knows hope.

 Who would lie to her if not to destroy her?

And who was so foolish to think that was possible?

Though she cries in weakness, I see strength. 

I see on her wrist, a scar. Fresh.

She is alive to display it, is she not?

She is strong.

She's dying, repeatedly inside, but she hasn't died.

Is a shred of this sinking in, or am I to begin again? 

Tears. Dripping down a pleasant face with a perfect body to accompany.

Hurt is bleeding through but she's mastered it with subtlety.

Tender heart, forgiving soul, but still she is mighty.

She is moving, as she's moved me to tears.

She is stunning and she'll stun me for years.

She is glorious, victorious, but she can't take much more of this.

What do you see when you see her?

Have you ever seen a dying star?

Ever watched it from afar?

Dying stars are far more beautiful than healthy ones.

Tragedy.

Beauty.

Undeniably beautiful.

Mystical. 

 If you haven't, you can't understand. Even if you have you still can't understand, understand? 

 I know a girl who is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Inside, and out.

She is striking. I'm finding myself changed daily by her impact.

If anyone ever was worthy of love and recognition, I know it is her. She is beautiful.