Her.

You see her one day,
Her soft, golden red hair seems to shine,
Like a blaze,
A flame just for you.

She doesn’t see you,
Her nose is buried in the pages of her book,
The small smile on her face,
Makes your heart swell.

Suddenly, she’s all you can think about,
When she finally looks up at you,
You’re breathless,
Her eyes, those green orbs, seem to speak words you never thought possible.

She smiles at you and blushes,
There’s something in her innocence that makes you melt,
You walk over to her,
Smiling at her, you hold out your hand.

“Anna,” you say kindly, “my name’s Anna.”
And she looks up at you and bites her lip softly, hesitantly,
The shine in her eyes makes you want to draw her,
Cover an entire canvas of watercolours, bright and radiant.

Pour every inch of her wonder and beauty,
To see it for the first time all over again,
To put it to memory,
Hoping that one day, she’ll think you’re worthy.

“Lavinia,” she says, holding your hand in hers, “my name’s Lavinia.”

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