She's pretty in a quiet way that is subtle and sneaky. Her beauty is not that of a rose, but rather that of morning dewdrops which clings to the blooming flower. She's pretty with her messy hair and ink stained fingertips. She's pretty with her big brown eyes and scattered freckles. She's pretty with her rosy cheeks and mismatched socks. She's pretty with her small button nose and dimpled smile. She's pretty in the way she loves life cherishing dreams and memories. She's pretty for the way she laughs uncontrollably with aching sides. She's the kind of pretty that is always there, but not always noticed or at least not right away. In a way she's like an inkblot test-at first glance she doesn't seem like much, but after a while things fall into place allowing you to see the bigger picture or in this case allowing you to see who she is beneath the surface. Letting you see how she is made up of contradicting qualities and insecurities.

With her nose buried in a book she seems small and inconspicuous. She comes off as quiet, but in truth she is loud. She is loud in the way she thinks and in the way she feels. Romanticising life and dreaming up whole new worlds of silver and gold. She likes to think. Likes to ponder over life's mysteries and think of what might have been if she had chosen to take a different path.

At night she can't sleep because her mind is wide awake. In the back of her head a bittersweet melody plays to fill the silence of the dark. Lying on her side she stares out the open window having a deep, philosophical conversation with the moon. Or at least trying to for the moon does not answer back, not tonight. With a sigh of loneliness and regret she slowly drifts off to sleep. When morning comes she forces herself out of bed smearing on war paint to prepare for the day's battles. She might stumble and fall, but she won't give up. She cares too much to stop halfway through.

Her expectations of life are high yet she still finds pleasure in the little things. She jots down poems in a notebook and draws small swirling designs on her jeans. She snaps photos of blurry landscapes from the car window and takes screenshot of ancient ruins. She scribbles profound wisdom on bathroom stalls and leaves half finished stories lying around for anyone to see. Small and insignificant these things may be, but it's her way of reminding the world that she's there.

Each of her little quirks and imperfections piece together her fascinating personality making her beautiful. But her beauty isn't skin deep. Oh no, it runs much deeper than that. It's the sharpness of her mind and her witty tongue. It's the fire coursing through her veins and the gleam in her eyes. It's the burning intensity of her busy mind, wild heart, and messy soul which makes her beautiful.