your surroundings appear aesthetic
by virtue of your existence.

the sun, so bright and boastful, feels honoured it could extend it's light and kiss your pale skin. taking pride in making blood rush to your cheeks.

the large tree, jealous of the sun, stretches it's branches, casting a shade over you to block out its provocations. deliberately letting it's leaves fall on the cluster of tangles brushed repeatedly by your fingers, yearning to know how your touch must feel.

and the birds who sing melodic tunes at dawn to help lift the sun's spirit are busy creating grand tunes just for you. as if you have now become their promise of uncertain glory.

the street artist too is driven to the point of insanity. his colourful hands traced your figure in his canvas, giving so much detail and yet barely even close to capturing anything nearly as glorious as you.

people like you make solitude look so beautiful. you have my admiration. however, i will never muster up the confidence and be part of your pretty surroundings.

people like me tend to ruin everything exquisite.

and you are really beautiful.

© daphne