To A Girl

And there she goes, a lovely girl

with freckles on her face, the one with curly hair.

There she sits under the wide oak tree,

holding a sketchpad, her fingers etched with blots of watercolors,

her eyes shining like the blazing sun.

There she goes, breathing still, looking at a distant bird, playing Bon Iver on her speakers.

I take a step closer and listen to the sound

of my heart booming against my black sweater.

It is terrible to walk above the ground

as my feet noisily trip on dried grasses and leaves, terrible to think of

everlasting summer when I would live throughout winter in a hut made of straw with her. I try to think of

falling mountains crushing me to death,

of waves throwing me deep under the Pacific, of ways to fade away out of her sight.

But when she looks up and smiles at me,

I watch the heavens open, I hear the angels sing, I feel my thumping

heart goes still, and I swear this is

heaven on earth, this is true love,

this is not a mistake.

To love her is to slam against

the tidal waves. I don't mind dying for dying for her sake is better than living without her.

@Cello Jhean