Personal notes to anons who may never see them

0.2

It's her.
It has been and will always be her.
Since the day we met I've been addicted to her like a drug, and when she's away I'm desperate to feel her again. I've never met anyone like her. She has a harmonic dissonance that's addicting like no other sound. Her voice is like honey, much like her eyes, it's sweet and savory, but sticky if you use it wrong. You have to be cautious when you see her. She's a little broken, she has a few cuts and bruises, a lot of scars. You'll only see them if your the right kind of people. She gets defensive over things and situations when she's scared or unfamiliar. Sometimes she can lash out and sometimes she doesn't quite understand things, but she's worth listening to.

It's her.
The woman daydreaming with the pretty, full smile, leaning against the wall in all black and tattoos. The woman who only seems beautiful to a specific eye. The woman who doesn't understand her worth. She tries sometimes, but it's hard for her to fathom that someone could find anything beautiful in her, she's brainwashed. She doesn't quite understand what the definition of beauty is, how abstract in can be. But that's okay, no one is perfect, but relishing in her imperfections is a passtime I've grown to know well. She tries to stay hidden, even when she hopes that someone pries open the door. She's conflicted. But she's not unlovable.

It's her.
She's my confidence, my safe space. When I knew I couldn't trust anyone else she was there. When I messed up past forgiveness she still managed to see the fear in my eyes when judgment came. She still managed to have humanity when I deserved none. She puts the color back in my face and the warmth back in my life. I feel alive. She's alive. She makes me alive.

It's her.
My be all end all. My universe, my best friend, my lover, my everything.

It's her. It will always be her.