She was just like the seasons.
Soft and gentile like spring, but still bright and exploding with energy,
Fun and exciting like summer, while playful and full of laughter,
Calm and beautiful like fall, with scary stories on the tip of her tongue, and mischief in her eyes,
And cold and harsh like winter, glittering and pure.
She was a walking contradiction, always smiling and happy, while able to have the saddest eyes you've ever seen,
Unthinking in her fast but graceful movements, but clumsy in her slow and thought out ideas,
A heart purer than freshly fallen snow, but a mind twisted with the crule words and acts of others,
Long limbs, but still shorter than what the world deems tall.
She was an interesting idea to have, see, know, think, and understand, because she was all that, but still not at the same time.
You could see the care and adoration in her eyes as she looked at you, but the harsh and unforgiving fave that was directed towards those that wronged her.
She was all the seasons, temperatures, and emotions, bottled and packed into one singular person.
She was like a bomb waiting to explode, because she caught fire the day she was born.
You could only love and care about her from a distance, because up close you would get burnt and destroyed, all the while letting, no wanting, her too.
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Документальная прозаShe was poetry. In all of her movements, the way light hit her skin, and even the way she cried silently. She was poetry in its finest form, but people don't understand that it's for all to look at, but only them to claim as their own.
