Never had I seen a person carry such extravagance,
with just their little finger.
She held her head high,
and it gave you the sense that
she held her pride a tad higher.
Her laugh, a sound still repeating in my ears, which the birds sing along to when it chimes.
And her eyes, wow, how I got lost in her eyes, how they shine and shimmer and sparkle and glimmer.
However one night in the dark, her pride fell
and her laugh turned to weeps,
the birds no longer sang harmonies but instead the wolves howled to her cries,
Her eyes became dull and glistened with wet, her face drooped and stained with black streaks.
I cannot forget though how high her extravagance was still held,
maybe even more so than before,
as I held her- softly rocking and cooing in her ear, listening to the sobs become gentle and soon they became snores.
I stared at her, this distressed damsel, the princess I held with such care, and I wondered, how such a broken person can still be so, so beautiful.
Her silent features reminded me of a thunderstorm; the thunder she holds on her face and the way it crumples in a dream,
yet... in some way it is rewarding to watch, the elegance in the tears striking her face and the way her mummers, although gentle, slash through the air like lightning.