dear lily | poem
🐇🎀
you’re sunlight tangled in lace,
a rose pressed between pages,
delicate and fragile, forever preserved.
your hair spills like black silk,
threaded with moonlight,
every strand brushed into perfection.
it falls over your shoulders like petals,
velvety and effortless,
and i wonder how it feels to be that
weightless.
your hands are porcelain gardens,
fingers slender like stems,
nails painted in the blush of cherry
blossoms. your wrists wear pearls like
dew on leaves, small, shimmering promises
that never break under the light.
even your tears, i imagine,
fall like spring rain —
gentle, symmetrical, nourishing
the earth beneath you.
i can’t cry like that.
my tears are jagged storms.
i can’t even breathe like you.
you’re the kind of girl
boys carve into their hearts,
the kind they see blooming
in their futures.
white dresses swaying
in summer winds,
the soft clink of coffee cups
on sun-drenched tables.
i saw it in his eyes too,
how they softened
when they found you,
how he turned to you as if you were
the moon guiding him home.
and god, lily, if i were him,
i’d love you too.
i’d hold you like a fragile bouquet,
shield you from the thorns,
from anything sharp,
anything loud,
anything like me.
you are ribbons tied
with the care of a prayer,
skirts that flutter like whispers,
your smile a bloom so delicate
it could silence a room.
when you walk,
the earth seems softer,
like it stretches itself smooth
just to make your path lighter.
you’re not just a girl;
you’re like magic spun from satin.
you’re the gentle twitch
of a rabbit’s nose,
all softness and light,
the quiet kind of beautiful
that i’ll never be.
i wish i could hate you, lily,
but i can’t.
not when your ribbons
are tied so neatly.
not when your laugh
feels like daisy chains.
not when every glance of yours
feels like the first bloom of spring.
you’re the garden,
and i’m the tangled weeds
growing in its shadow.
if i could,
i’d slip into your petals,
feel what it’s like to bloom
so perfectly.
i’d claw at my own skin,
rip apart the weeds,
sand down the sharp edges,
just to see if i could ever feel
as lovely as you look.
i’m angry, lily.
not at you. at myself.
for wanting to step into your ribbons,
to wear your grace like a second skin,
for understanding why they all
orbit around you, why he does too.
for knowing that if
i could love anyone,
it’d be you.
you’re not a person.
sweet lily, you’re a dream —
woven from stardust
and silver threads,
a reflection i could never reach.
and i’m the girl
awake in the corner,
watching you float by, weightless,
wishing i could close my eyes,
and fall asleep too.
