They call you, someone worthy of being called a Goddess, so out of this world,
E T H E R E A L
You walk through the soft wildflower
patches, who bow to you, the one capable of even more beauty than themselves.
From the other side, by an old willow tree, i watch you in awe. not quite capable of looking away, neither capable of surviving the sight of you.
Your white dress flows with the passing breeze. In that moment, all i wanted to be was the warm air who brushed past your collarbones, your tan shoulders and your flower-scented hair, addorned with the petals that fell from the colorful wreath you're wearing.
Dec 12, 2019
Dec 12, 2019 at 5:21 AM UTC
They call you, someone worthy of being called a Goddess, so out of this world,
E T H E R E A L
You walk through the soft wildflower
patches, who bow to you, the one capable of even more beauty than themselves.
From the other side, by an old willow tree, i watch you in awe. not quite capable of looking away, neither capable of surviving the sight of you.
Your white dress flows with the passing breeze. In that moment, all i wanted to be was the warm air who brushed past your collarbones, your tan shoulders and your flower-scented hair, addorned with the petals that fell from the colorful wreath you're wearing.