april 25

she’s like the first fallen leaf in autumn.
i don't have any more to say really.
her perfume is left on my desk — it's purple.
she feels like the warmth of summer when you first go outside,
or the cold of the shore washing over your feet.

every one of my senses feels comfort in her presence:
both of my eyes looking into hers,
both of our breaths in sync.

she's the first flower to bloom in spring,
the one that makes you excited to tan in the sun.
she's the feeling of soft grass under the shade of a tree,
or when a ladybird chooses to spend time on your hand.

her smell feels familiar to me —
it's like the comfort of your own bed,
clean clothes,
freshly baked bread.

her eyes are the colour of crystals you'd want to buy;
they have a softness to them,
they make her look kind.

she's gentle.
her hands feel delicate in mine.

music isn't pretty enough to write songs about her;
she can't be described with words alone.

her smile is like the last few seconds of sunset —
i wish i could hold it for longer in my mind.

she's sweet like french toast.

i like her quite a lot.