She wasn't beautiful, no.
Not in society's perception of beauty
But she was beautiful,
in the way she spoke and the way she said your name.
She was beautiful in the way her fingers lingered on the objects that she touched, as if she was caressing each one
and the way in which she gazed longingly at the golden sunset from her rooftop.
She wasn't beautiful, she wasn't perfect or astounding.
But she was flawless in how she cared,
how she gave away so willingly, how she understood.
There was no mistaking the beauty in which her eyes radiated love at the sound of your name
There was a breathtaking perfection in how she laughed for the consolation of those around her.
No, she didn't have a beautiful face or a hot summer body.
But she ways beautiful in all that she was,
pure honesty in what she believed,
and graceful in the way she carried her soul.
She was the girl writing poetry in the back of the class
and she was irrelevant to you,
you didn't notice her then but you can't imagine life without her now.
She is beautiful, treasure her.