Pretty girl,
But no friends.
No true friends.
No real friends...
Only acquaintances.
Dreams of laughter surrounding her,
Wishing she could be that same person in the past.
But we're in the future and
In the present...
Right now,
That person does not exist;
To recall her seems like a mere figure of the imagination.
She has grown from then
Life has whipped her too hard
And she is no fool to the tricks that ease up on people's souls and conscience.
So she waits...
There.
In a realm that few people understand or better yet been.
The quiet space or is it a latitude deep within.
