Clear Skies

She used to tell me the skies were beautiful.
With not a single cloud in it and fluent shade of baby blue.
In her mind, clear skies represented beauty.
But what represented beauty to me, was her.
When I saw her, I saw a depth of the universe that was held within her eyes.
Within those tree bark dark brown eyes held a personality that encompassed a thousand galaxies with specs of black to represent the stars.
And around the brown was a golden sunrise rim that greeted you with warmth in every blink.
In that sky I saw a shade of blue cascading over the horizon turning into a gradient pink, the same pink that flushed over her cheeks when she was embarrassed.
If I looked off into the corner I could spot a cloud deep in the back that represented a Waldo within her,
A side of her she only entrusted to me.
It was so personal and complex, yet simple.
Because loving her was simple.
As simple as memorizing the preamble in grade school.
When all the kids would sing a tune to remember it but I was there admiring it's grace.

Like a ballerina dancing on it's toes to the daily routine.
But do you think I've had the guts to tell her that?

No, I'm the ballerina dancing promptly on my toes around her trying to keep a straight face.

I've had that "palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy" feeling all week.

I'm not sure if you've ever had that feeling of losing someone that was never yours to begin with but it, sucks.

Slightly slipping away from your fingers that were yet to be intertwined with theirs.
Trust me, I'm trying to be optimistic like transformers and change my feelings into a fast pace car,
But for now, I'll remain stationary.
Because my pen and paper hold a special place within me.
So when she tells me the sky is beautiful I say yeah, it really is.

This poem is about: 
Our world

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