And then I noticed it—

I don’t smile 

Like I used to.

The girl in the pictures is bursting

With something I lost long ago.

Then I see it—

Not something

Good or 


But rather

A maturing of the cheekbones,

An ironing of the soul.

You see, 

Those smiles were born of

Flimsy, ethereal happiness—

An acute delirium.

The smile now 

Is calmer,

Conceived in even moments of darkness

But chosen amidst the shards

Of stained glass window memories—

Now she smiles with 

Chronic, constant, unquenchable joy.

Published by Amanda Brown

INFP who names inanimate objects, loves to laugh, and is a proud old soul. You can often find her planning out her next crazy project, hugging books, or telling stories about her day that *may* be a little exaggerated.

2 thoughts on “smile

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