She'll Never Know
I know she'll never love someone with the same soft features, the same delicate framework.
By Lucero Chavez RiveraPublished 3 years ago • 1 min read
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Dancers Practicing at the Barre (1877) by Edgar Degas
Her face is flushed, the red hue coloring her cheeks as her smile widens.
Bashful, she turns away from him.
Endearing, the sound of her laugh fills the hearts of many in the room.
The world knows her affections, her words like an angel, soft and comforting.
Her eyes like the glint of snow, it's a pity, she'll never know.
She'll never know how much I love her, with each passing look I fall further.
I know she'll never love someone with the same soft features, the same delicate framework.
Though, I am not as pleasing to the eye as she.
I still whisper prayers that she looks at me the same.
Perhaps one day that smile would be directed towards me.
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