She was starlight—
No… maybe brighter.
She sleeps in glass and breathes in flowers,
Moves like the soil was born just to hold her.

She smiled like the sunbeams needed her wrinkles,
Glanced like the wind borrowed her blinks.
I never heard her voice—
My only privilege
Was to gaze upon her frame.

But if I ever heard her speak,
I believe it would be
Sweeter than sweetness itself.

She wasn’t just ethereal—
She made me question
If she ever belonged to this planet at all.

I saw her once.
And I knew—
Hers was a beauty
That beauty itself would bow to.

She wasn’t made of moonlight,
Nor crafted by heavens,
She wasn’t an angel.

She was something beyond all of that—
Something even language could never contain.
No tongue could trace her form,
No name could describe her light.

Until I found myself asking the universe:
Was she really meant for Earth?