She is a whisper.
She is the night.
She is something,
truly, to behold.
And in that whisper,
she is nothing.
A delicate breeze
carrying the most familiar of scents.
She lingers for awhile,
makes you wish and long
to hold her forever,
and then she is gone.
She is beauty
in its rarest and truest of forms.
For she is fleeting.
The secret of her charm
is that, too soon, she is gone.
If you were to scratch her surface
to see what lies beneath,
something strange you would find.
She beautifully broken,
Shattered symmetry inside.