She was absolutely gorgeous; her brilliance the equivalent.
She had an artist’s eye and a romantic’s soul; she was walking perfection.
A hundred poems I have written since those days grown dark and cold
I still see her face like heaven’s light upon the fold of every page I write
and in despair I crumple at the memories of every pain I induced
as I walked away in her soft and loving heart.
I could have loved her always as I had from the start,
but another stole my attention, stole my soul-
the sole part of me I could not relinquish to her.
Her smile vibrant, but fragile as her heart; I learned first hand how to make it break and how to mend it just the same.
And every time I walked away, I knew that i would make it back some day- but all my words like knives they bled her clean until her doubts and fears washed over me and weighed me down into the deep and sorrow swallowed me. But see, she lives to tell this saddened tale of a friend grown cold and lonely still while she has risen high above the fall of the girl who claimed to want all-
All the love a life could give.
How tragic is she… this life she breathes is still a beautiful tragedy of all things she risked to see but just could never let it be.


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