She is not

She’s  not a flamboyant personality
She has grown older in the tides that bind her
Although the idea of you is like rain into the lake, remember the brim is too salty
Fish can survive if you don’t overwhelm the lake
She is not pretty
And she doesn’t mind it
For she thinks  pretty can only be the idea of you
She has thoughts,
A lot of them.
They are entwined into the wind.
Wind can harsh. Wind can be gentle. Wind can mess. Wind can fondle.
It can make flowers dance. It can make leaves wither.
So great is the power of you that she is maddened to contain the wind.
Keep moving or it’s going to bother. For it’s supposed to entertain.
She doesn’t die. She is either full of wind or she’s full of rain. She’s full, most of the times. And she entertains. Sometimes a life saver, sometimes a spectrum of beauty, sometimes a deathly call.
She can contain the moon. She can confine it into her darkness. She can caress the broken stars into a sweet melody. She never cries. She only sings. She is happiness. She remembers every reflection and cherishes till the rain dries.
She’s not pretty
She’s not flamboyant.


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