She was a girl whose laugh played at the wind’s heart strings that produced a melody that shamed the birds,
they couldn’t duplicate it.
A girl whose eyes glittered so brilliantly that the sun became jealous and the clouds had to run and obscure it, getting burned and evaporated for the sake of her eyes.
Her hair- the trees shook as they struggled to mimic its wave, the swing-
they snapped their branches and still they couldn’t match it.
She exists in my mind, comes out smiling when I’m least paying attention and makes my eyes tear,
but that’s only because I’m in the state of mind that is between awake and sleep,
and I’m trying to stay awake to make her more real.
My eyes rebel but I’m writing anyway. My wrists are corresponding with her wishes, she makes them tired so I’ll forget to write about her.
I’m stronger than you, lady.
You’re beautiful and terrifying, you’re confident, cocky, unbelievable, striking, dizzying and frustrating. You are everything everything wants their everythings to be.
So I’m writing. She’s in my mind. She’s gonna stay there, no snapping trees or burning clouds or mortified birds. The wind is safe from her laugh.
My wrists hurt, my eyes tear.
Maybe I’ll dream of her?
[Photo taken of the last rose produced by my garden before they went to sleep for the winter. It’s golden, it’s dead. It’s gorgeous.]