When I look into her eyes, there’s something dead there.
I’m sure that small glimmer was alive and sparkling once,
but now it hides behind lovely long lashes and cascades occasionally
down her pockmarked cheeks like water over rocks.
It’s a tragedy but no one’s crying but her.
It’s normal, see, though if you knew the whole story
you’d feel pity and all, but still, you wouldn’t cry, because it’s all
normal. Normal like a child hiding from a shout or like someone crying
silently beneath an unwavering, unloving gaze. That’s normal.
Normal for her. But if it was normal for you, you’d be like she is.
So the sparkle’s faded away almost completely now,
but sometimes there’s a little effervescence to her voice
and I want to shout with joy but I just answer her questions and grin back.
See, even if she does cry, she smiles too. She’s got two sides
because, you know, she’s a Gemini, a pretty double-sided coin.
It’s when she’s bubbly that she’s got the most friends, because
friends are beggars who cry for smiles, and girls who frown
and cry don’t give smiles often.
But I try to be there. I really do. Even when she’s crying
and not interesting I do my best to be the consoling hand.
It’s only when she’s laughing, happy, that I feel repaid
but of course I keep trying because
if I leave, who can make her laugh?
I’m probably just basking in my own vanity here,
but wouldn’t you love to see the sparkle return?

((A/N: Yes, this is based off of a real person. But I want you to appreciate it as a poem, not a character sketch. Concrit is absolutely adored.))