Question

She moves through this world like a secret too profound to utter,
a cipher carved into the marrow of existence itself.
Her breath, the sigh of ancient winds brushing across desolate plains;
her eyes, cathedrals where saints kneel in quiet reverence,
their prayers swallowed by the abyss of her gaze.

I would tear pages from the fabric of reality,
scribble her name in the margins of eternity,
and still, the letters would collapse.
gasping under the weight of her ineffable essence.

Her laughter is a dagger—sharp, relentless, divine
penetrating the leaden despair of mortal hours.
And I, a vagrant in the wasteland of my own thoughts,
am redeemed by the echo of her voice.

Do I dare to name her?
To define her is to desecrate her,
for words are the clumsy hands of a child
fumbling at the gates of an unspoiled temple.

She is perfection
not as the world makes weak and shallow,
but like the calm after a storm or the silence
that follows it.

And I, a nobody, stand in wonder,
smitten mute, undone by her beauty,
my love for her a fire so wild
it boils over and consumes the very words
I would use to speak of her.

Answer 1

This is very good... Nice job :)

Answer 2

wow this is beautiful :3

Answer 3

taste like marshmallow

Answer 4

WW

Answer 5

nice job!

Answer 6

Good stuff

Answer 7

Good stuff well done 👍

Answer 8

peak

Answer 9

good