Cyrano

She is beautiful.

But she’ll never love me.

I am ugly. In so many ways.

It’s been so long since I’ve looked in a mirror; I’ve forgotten what I look like.
But I know I’m ugly.

Ah… she passed by again: the birds hush their songs in shame of such a beautiful creature, my heart fills with such joy that she even exists –

And she’s gone again.
But my love stays.

She is beautiful.

And I know she’ll never love me.

She has found a lover.

They are equals in beauty, as well as she deserves. My love cannot erase my features.

They are walking hand in hand through the park; laughing. The birds have flown south, because my face is even worse when I am sad.

And she’s gone again.
But my love stays.

She is beautiful.

She cannot love me.

I am not worthy.

No matter how brave I am or how many deeds I have done; her beauty is more brilliant then my courage.

Her grace causes flowers to bloom in full. My wretched face causes rain to fall.

I cannot fight for her love.
This breaks my heart.

She is beautiful.

And my love is strong.

Stronger then even I.

The knives to my throat were less painful and frightening then her unbearable, burning touch.

And the twisting, cold liquid feeling of longing is bearable because I will see her again.

I cannot fight for her love.
This breaks my heart.

She is beautiful.

I’ll always love her.

And nothing will change that.

Even as I’m old and dying, my will to see her keeps me living.

In my last moments a tear escapes my eye and rolls down my monstrous face.

And she’s gone again.
This breaks my heart.

She is beautiful.

I am not.