Where Velvet Fades
What is it to be real? Is it how soft my velvet is? Or how long I stay lovely For the hands that hold me close? What is real?
I watch the others, Wishing for what I do not have, For I am plain, Nothing rare or extraordinary. Yet still, I long For something honest, Something real.
What is it to be real? To be held day in and day out, To be carried through morning dew And beneath the late-night stars. To be loved through every adventure— Is that what makes one real?
After so much time, After endless days of loving others, I began to fade. My beauty softened, My seams grew worn, Yet my patience and understanding only deepened.
And somewhere along the way, I realized I had always been real to them.
So perhaps becoming real Was never about what I saw in myself, But what love was willing to leave behind.