She is beautiful in the way of tragic endings and soft voices when you are just waking up from a deep sleep. She has a laugh that resounds in your heart long after she is finished. She is a story written in brown eyes and passion and long hair which reminds you of the mist on a beautiful autumn morning, she is gentle calm personified. She has elegance and wisdom beyond her years. So many things about her are naturally lovely that honestly, even I cannot hate her, even if though I have tried.
And here is me, me with my dark eyes, always questioning, and unsure of what I am doing. My words are all difficult questions and strange arguments. My dark hair wild and unruly, I am not a story, but a half written poem, leaving unfinished endings as I go along in this life, relying on the wild to keep me alive. I live on ideas, full moon nights and insomnia. I am an open book of the messes I have made and completely, utterly selfish about you. I am full of longing even when you are right there, my mind in places it should not be – racing through trees and memories.
She is a mustang. And I am a wolf.
I am wild, I howl at the moon and I give my all but only when it comes to you. She on the other hand, is always generous and giving and true.
She has taken my moon from me, but giving you up is the most selfless thing I will ever do. For here is the thing, my darling, here is the truth.
I love you more fiercely than she ever could. But she is the one who deserves you. Her heart is purer, less polluted than mine. I am only beautiful when I hunt. She is beautiful in an always sort of way.
And at the end of the day, she is a wild mustang destined to run wild with you, and wolves like me are better off alone, howling longingly at the moon.