The girl. The girl who walked barefoot on burning asphalt and sharp things. The girl who danced in the rain like she'd never live to see another day. The girl that lived in sweatshirts and denim shorts. With a laugh that was truly infectious. And a scent that was a mix of vanilla and cigarette smoke. A voice that could bring tears to your eyes. A face touched with the lightest and prettiest freckles. She had a spirit that was old and worn, but beautiful and wild at the same time. Her hair was wild just like her, yet she refused to let it go. Her spirit was free, she was beautiful, she was lovely, she was perfection.
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thoughts.
PoetryPoems, stories, honesty. Everything you want to say but you can't. Typed words that are hardly ever spoken aloud. Truth. The good, the bad and the ugly. Thoughts that are often trapped inside the mind for days, months, years. Kept locked away, never...
