Jul 1, 2020
This one is to her.
This is to the girl that she wants to be. The girl she forgot she was.
She is the scent of a flower, the perfume that is overlooked. She is the queen who swings her sword the hardest in battle, but prays for her enemies as she holds them. She’s never wanted her cottage destroyed, but she continues to rebuild it. She will, by hand. She is strong without knowing she is. She forgets the lights she creates when she smiles, and the strength that is held in her raven hair. I believe that she has forgotten the strength that comes in the stance she holds, even when she is faltering.
That, that is, the most upsetting part. She has forgotten. But I know that mountains could be moved with those hands.
