Who is she?

She’s both an anomaly and a mystery.

She’s the pause between the seasons.

She’s the breath you hold before some piece of exciting news.

She’s the subtle rays of sun peeking through the trees.

She’s the quiet tapping of the rain against the leaves on a rainy day.

She’s the loud silence before the birds chirp once the sun rises.

She’s the smaller stars in the sky, twinkling a little dimmer than the others so they can shine brighter.

She’s the smile holding someone’s world together.

She’s the embrace lightening the unspoken burden that weighs heavy.

She’s the playlist listened to on the days when music is the only language that can heal and not harm.

She’s the lingering gaze of someone who cares too much to ever say anything.

She’s the emotions too heavy to hold.

She’s the one who cradles others’ wounds.

She’s the one who soothes other’s worries before they can become anxieties.

She’s the one who steps in wherever she can because she can’t stand by and do nothing.

She’s the one who loves so deeply it’s hurting her that it’s not equally given but she’s terrified to tell anyone.

She’s the one who notices such small details and brushes off others’ apology of being incapable of giving her the same amount of thoughtfulness.

She’s the gentle question of ‘who do you love?’

She’s the patient listener always eager to understand for as long as she’s able.

She’s the silent supporter afraid of loving too loudly.

She’s the hopeless romantic most people’s eyes pass over because she’s only pretty, not beautiful.

She’s the closed door you need permission to open.

She’s the slow-burn of loving someone until they learn how to love themselves.

She’s the empath that knows what her lover is thinking before they even say anything.

She’s the soul afraid to take up space.

She’s the friend that speaks fast because she’s afraid of losing your attention.

She’s the friend that notices when someone else’s words hit her friend too hard.

She’s the girl that can read the room in a single glance because it’s an instinct not a habit.

She’s the girl that would do anything for the ones that know her better than anyone.

She’s the presence of home.

She’s the comfort her closest loved ones look for when they need reassurance.

She’s the absence her nonexistent lover can’t bear to know.

She’s the thread that’s grown so thin it’s transparent.

She’s the girl of a thousand faces.

She’s the shapeshifter that’s able to become whoever you want, whoever you need.

She’s the little girl that’s afraid she’s useless without looking like she’s trying.

She’s the girl afraid to break because giving up means she’s didn’t try hard enough.

She’s the girl whose voice was swallowed by the silence of her pain.

She’s the girl who lost her youth without realizing she should’ve held onto it.

She’s the girl whose heart was first broken by the people meant to protect her.

She’s the girl painted grey because her life is losing color.

She’s the girl that tries so hard but not at all.

She’s the girl holding on but her grip is losing its strength.

She is the girl that is me.