what he saw me as

she was a girl \ who was like a sunset \ all bright \ bold and unapologetic \ but \ like a sunset \ her smile would fade \ leaving you to grasp \ at the reflection of stars \ in her eyes \ asking where her colors went \ to be replaced by darkness \ and \ just like a sunset \ she was never \ the same girl \ for too long \ and some mornings \ she would sit without talking \ because she didn’t believe \ she had anything worth saying \ and during some nights \ she would ask \ if what we had was real / and i think / that she is a better poet / than a girl / because she could turn / all her doubts into adjectives / instead of facing them / and she learned to twist / her handmade heartbreaks / into exquisite lines / so i almost wonder / if she breaks herself / just so she can rebuild / and write poetry.

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