She was afraid of what she’d find when she looked in the mirror. Deep in her eyes was a truth that had so long sat dormant that eventually even she had all but forgotten it’s existence.
She had chosen to believe instead, that her reflection was not one worth summoning and that it held no beauty, no hope and no promise.
I wondered how she could not see it; that she was no less than a flower, delicate, but undeniably beautiful in it’s fragility.
So much so that like a welcomed summer, my life would feel absolutely incomplete in it’s absence.