I want to breathe your flowers.
To take in your thoughts and extending vines of knowledge.
Your intoxicating grace captivates me.

It surely captivates everyone around you
and it captivates our friends.
They gravitate towards you
and I can't blame them.

You're beautiful,
smart,
funny,
charismatic,
and pretty much every other good thing about a person.

I am nowhere in comparison.
You don't have to deal with the intrusive thoughts
or the breakdowns that appear out of thin air
or the weight of not being enough.
You don't have to deal with the weight comments,
or the acne tips from everyone you know,
or the intense burn of insecurity when you wear anything restricting.
No, you're perfect,
and I'm fundamentally broken.

Everyone will cry when you're gone
but no one will bring a flower to my grave.