And the girl in white dances through the meadow, her shoes long forgotten and her stockings ripped to shreds. She doesn't seem to care as she twirls amongst the soft grass, her fiery hair burning as it whips about in the cool summer breeze. You watch by the riverbank, fishing next to her father but your attention solely on her. She is the sun incarnate, burning up the air around, leaving you breathless as she continues to shine. But you would gladly give up all of your air for her smile, her laugh, her daring heartbeat. She is your Rose.
And the girl in white kisses you under the mistletoe, her hair wound with beads that do not hold a candle to the pearls round your mother's neck. But hers seem to twinkle brighter, catch the light of the torches more fiercely as they reflect the flames, brightening her face as her lips move against yours. You could spend forever with her wrapped in your arms, with her lips sending electricity down your spine and spinning your head. But you would gladly give up all of your air for her smile, her laugh, her daring heartbeat. She is your Rose.
And the girl in white walks down the aisle, her face hidden under her veil, your pulse racing as she steps nearer. Her hand is on her father's arm and you wish for nothing more than for her to be holding you, but you hold yourself back, satisfied with the knowledge that soon you will be wed. She finally gets to the alter and the air leaves your lungs as she lifts her veil, her curls tumbling down. But you would gladly give up all of your air for her smile, her laugh, her daring heartbeat. She is your Rose.
And the girl in white swings back and forth before they cut her down. You are yelling and crying, gross unimaginable sobs as her cousin holds you, comforts you. But nothing Lily can do will help because she looks too much like her and she is lying anyways. Because it won't be okay, it will never be okay. They wheel the gurney away from you and their mutters about a crushed windpipe makes you feel the same way. But you would gladly give up all of your air for her smile, her laugh, her daring heartbeat. She is your Rose.
And the girl in white lies against the silk, so different and still in comparison to her bright, vibrant life. Her lips are turning blue and she smells of the flowers that surround her and chemicals that make me want to wretch. Her family is here, all of them sending you dirty looks, all except Lily, blaming you for not giving her enough to be happy about, blaming you for allowing her to leave herself breathless forever. But you would have gladly give up all of your air for her smile, her laugh, her daring heartbeat. She was your Rose.