in a bed of flowers,
her hair is set adrift from the wind,
a discreet secret tainted on her lips,
that echoes into the unknown.

in a suit of black,
he greets her with a melancholic smile,
forever wondering what more he
could have accomplished.

he could've done more,
she could've done less,
but it's too late to settle the scores.

you were my picture perfect fairytale,
and i'd die a million times just to see you,
in my dreams by my side.

dampness forms in her eyelids,
slowly treading itself down her honey skin,
slipping down her cheeks;
teardrops are born.

brown eyes gaze into the horizon,
sweeping over the sunset,
forever wondering;
if the pain will cease.

fragile fingertips trace shapes,
twirling and digging themselves,
into the earth's surface;
dreading to be loved.

heart strings pull and release,
yanking emotional impulses,
and flooding imperfections;
coveting for a shoreline.

delicate arms are open,
awaiting for the storm to hit,
a futile attempt to embrace it;
but she is the storm.

i have convinced myself otherwise.

that all these feelings for you have vanished,
and it did at least for a little bit.

or maybe i just ignored it too well,
but when you grasped my hand.

your touch brought warmth,
and sparked all the forbidden emotions to unleash.

yet i still try to convince myself otherwise,
but these emotions are a good high.

even if you are never mine.

there are voices in her mind,
constant echoes that bubble wildly,
telling her that she's not good enough.

it tricks her into thinking,
that maybe... just maybe,
she's really not good enough.

they tell her she's not suitable,
not for this not for that,
and she just happens to believe them.

as naive as she is,
she's quickly fooled,
for thinking she doesn't have the potential.  

but deep down,
passing the harsh reminders,
she really is good enough.