Her laugh was golden, yet hollow.
The colour dulling over time, without the sun to help it shine.
Her eyes were silver, when they gleamed. Oh God, how pretty her eyes could have been.

Her heart was black; the most beautiful, nourishing shade of black I had ever had the blessing of seeing.
Her heart was painted black, layer upon layer of cruel intentions that only I could see through.
It wasn't her fault, don't blame her for it. Don't hate her for it.
Don't ever tell me that I couldn't love her for it.

Her wings were built on rainbows and stretched further than I ever would have thought they could.
She could only have hoped to fly one day, because rainbow wings couldn't carry the weight of the world;
but she let go of that weight, and can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't have done the same?

The days are pink now.
The layers of black that once enveloped her poor, weathered heart are fading.
Fading so quickly, and still you try and tell me that it wasn't worth it.

I'm glad she learned to fly, and I've never been more proud of a person.
I know it's not fair of me to say this,
not about the strongest person I have ever met,
and don't get me wrong, I really am glad that she learned to fly,
but sometimes I wish that I could have learned to fly too.