Her words were soft and pink
Like the petals of a late english rose
She sees herself in the backdrop of every 80s teen movie
Her hair flows orange against the fading sun, and
she looks at me like I have all the answers.
The yellow warblers on her dress
match the quirks of her smile, she’s
everything you’d want to be if you were
a girl’s girl.
I look in the mirror and I find no trace of her,
just lines of faded mascara
and premature frown lines.
But she stands behind me,
and that is enough.