April 20, 2017
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She looks of archaic magic, and power beyond comparison. She may be small, but she is so strong. I imagine her skin to be like that of a fresh Georgia peach: light, soft… Skin that gives you goosebumps when you run your finger across it. You may be afraid to get too close, for fear that you may bruise her. But believe me, dear, she has seen harm much darker than any kind you could inflict. She fought her demons, and she won. And though they still haunt her, she defends herself with a smile so sweet and pure that it could stab any nightmare like a saber. You know her eyes have witnessed so much heartbreak, but they still sparkle like diamonds. Her body curves like the backroad in the woods, lined with wildflowers and wandered on by weary travelers. Her thoughts are parasites that thrive in the late hours of the night; their stealthy, suckered tentacles inching along the insides of her skull, enfolding the knolls and dells of her memory, dislodging old sentences, whisking them off the tip of her tongue. Her laugh is like a pillow; I want to rest my head on it and let my worries drift away. When she speaks, her voice is soft yet can silence a whole room. She embraces others and hides in herself, though she really shouldn’t. She is the epitome of humility. When you love her… it is one of those deep-down, spooky loves that makes you so sad and happy at the same time. She’s the girl you wish to find yourself sitting next to on a crowded, sweaty bus. There’s something charming about her. Perhaps it’s her humbleness, or perhaps it’s simply a feeling of shame. But nonetheless, people tend to welcome her with open arms. People tend to take great pride in being her friend.

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