Falling. Floating. Lost.

That is the best way to describe your beauty.

Falling in love with the things you refuse to notice, like how you were born in a shade of brown that implores me to be the one who extends your lineage.

Falling in love with the things you can’t comprehend, like how your eyes speak love when you look at me. How your hands in mine seems like art, how your voice is what imagine angels sound like and how your smile feels like home.


Floating. Lost. Falling.

That is no other way to describe your beauty.

Floating in circles because something always brings me back to you. Somehow, I can no longer define beauty without you as a reference.

Floating in your fragility, in the things that make you whole and only you own. The insecurities you overcome to love yourself, the tears you shed to keep who you are together. I see battles you choose to face alone and float more in that beauty; your beautiful fragile strength.


Lost. Falling. Floating.

That is how I describe your beauty.

Lost is how I feel, lost in it’s gravity. Pulling me towards you. In your presence other stars shine a little less brightly and all I want to do is look at you.

Lost in you, in the mystery of understanding you. Your beauty is otherworldly. You were sculptured in the images goddesses, I know because the aura you radiate is divine.

Your beauty demands attention. Your beauty needs one to fall, to float, to get lost in moments of you.

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