Art of inner Renaissance

"I feel..." she struggled "I feel...like a wilted flower"

she tried to express, her exhausted soul trying to be seen through her compressing and rising chest, tears stains over the shirt over them.

She looked at me in the eye, pain screaming from her red and damp eyes.

And I smiled.

The creases that appeared on her forehead told me of her battered confusion.

"why do you smile?" she barely spoke

" Because I know you are about to blossom in a million more beautiful ways"

She stood still, silently stirring my words in her imagination.

And what the girl on the other side of the mirror was about to realize was that, her artistic soul could and would paint colors beyond her most glamorous imagination.