bury me amongst the moonlight and riverbeds

Is it so foolish to long to be beautiful?  

I long for my steps to ripple throughout the Earth like the water lapping against the shore, for my careful soles to leave curves in the foam-crested sand.

I long for my hair to glow in the sun as if it was woven of stardust & eternity, as if summer leaves could swirl for a season through the irises of my eyes, as if my skin could be born from a water lily’s blooming.

I long to be eternal, to be wondrous, crafted from the bronze of gods, nurtured by nectar and ambrosia, unbound by my mortality, glorious in my wake and perpetual in my remains. 

To be ever-living, to be immortal,

To have sway in other’s worlds, to be something wondrous and divine and gloriously brilliant,

To be looked upon as if I were the first dawning of the sun, the first speckle of a constellation, the first shooting star to shower its flames upon the world from its sanctuary in the night sky.

Would it be wrong to try?