she lives on, surviving the day again and again.
a speck of dust in the wide expanse of the universe,
simply breathing in the fumes of reality.
and she's only one out of 7.594 billion people doing the same thing,
but if a tiny rock falls, does it not cause an avalanche?
her life is a song,
sung on the wings of the bluebirds
that flit and flutter across the sky.
if you open your shutters,
perhaps you can hear it.
it sounds like a violin and a viola.
she finds beauty in the smallest things,
though isn't that what they always say?
perhaps it is a phrase that was created for her,
sealed with her name at the beginning of time.
keep that one reserved. the poets know not who it's for.
words dance underneath her fingertips,
frosting the ends of her eyelashes.
they surround her head,
only sometimes getting tangled in her hair.
she holds tears in little jars to wear around her neck,
little pieces of other's hurt
clutched tightly to a beating chest.
it's safe when it's under her care.
she bleeds just like everyone else.
sometimes, it falls into the abyss,
but other times it is caught in the hands of the angels.
the angels decide to spare her,
for one kind soul is worth millions of corrupt ones.
even if she sometimes forgets to drink water in the morning,
even if the world is crumbling at her feet,
even if a lifetime feels like infinity,