Nimetu

She is the silence in the middle of the night, the snow falling under the glow of a streetlamp.

She is the strangely peaceful aftermath of a fire, ashes falling, tiny flickering flames still holding on.

She is the shadow of a mountain in the moonlight, and the feeling you get when you're being watched.

She's the owl flying quiet, alone under the stars.

She's the huge, empty feeling of an abandoned cathedral, broken stained glass littering the floor.

She is sorrow and serenity made flesh.

She is love left unspoken, and dreams unachieved.

Her wings are the tranquility of a library in the morning, her eyes the comfort of hot chocolate before bed.

She is grief and misguidance and passion rolled together.

She is the raw, intimate feeling of giving someone the power to break you but trusting they won't.

She radiates calmness and faith, but at the same time heartache and worry.

She is solemnity personified, and the numbness of depression.

She is the balance between moments of happiness and desolation, between hope and regret.