No one likes the sad girl. She lingers in the corners watching, listening, building castles in the air; it makes you uneasy so you do your best to ignore her.
No one likes to hear her speak, for she speaks most often of the dark places in her mind. Those dark places are like mirrors and you are afraid of what you might see. Her eyes are like oceans - what lies beneath also lies within. She can see things hidden, she can hear the whispers of the waves, and she can feel what is suppressed. She is the storm.
No one likes to watch her move because her paths are uncharted, unfamiliar, and seemingly indefinite. Her fingers touch the leaves as she walks by, her hand catches the wind through the window. She stops to let the sun shine all of its warmth into her soul. She is the reason for your apprehension. She makes you still.
No one likes the sad girl, her tears and her words contain unfathomable weight. Too much for this world. Along her lines are stories, written by every second she has lived and ever will live. Every wrinkle a tale, every pore a memory, every hair a moment that has touched her. She is indescribable, yet she is tangible. She is not you.
No one wants to get too close. She is never really open though her heart is like a river - ever moving, unrestrained. To see inside, under the current, the clearness of her intentions.The white noise of her raging. To be near her is to burn. She is fire.
No one sings her song. The soft ancient melody that the world has hummed forever, it is hers. A song that changes and forever stays the same. The dark sky that is her, full of stars, most unseen.The moon her only light. She changes the tides and you still can't see.
No one likes to watch her move because her paths are uncharted, unfamiliar, and seemingly indefinite. Her fingers touch the leaves as she walks by, her hand catches the wind through the window. She stops to let the sun shine all of its warmth into her soul. She is the reason for your apprehension. She makes you still.
No one likes the sad girl, her tears and her words contain unfathomable weight. Too much for this world. Along her lines are stories, written by every second she has lived and ever will live. Every wrinkle a tale, every pore a memory, every hair a moment that has touched her. She is indescribable, yet she is tangible. She is not you.
No one wants to get too close. She is never really open though her heart is like a river - ever moving, unrestrained. To see inside, under the current, the clearness of her intentions.The white noise of her raging. To be near her is to burn. She is fire.
No one sings her song. The soft ancient melody that the world has hummed forever, it is hers. A song that changes and forever stays the same. The dark sky that is her, full of stars, most unseen.The moon her only light. She changes the tides and you still can't see.
No one likes the sad girl.
How would they know she is luminescent...
How would they know she is luminescent...
