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she was so imperfect it hurt.
there was slivers of dirt residing in her nails, unruly coils of hair falling beyond her shoulders. she thrived in messy rooms. through the loud, restless thoughts that impetuously pass through the hollow spaces of her mind,
here one second and gone the next.
freckles lied on her face in the most confusing ways, some on her nose, beneath her eyes, resting like a crescent moon beside her ears. like stars on the darkest of nights, painting the night sky. her brown ones lied across her ebony canvas like god herself was blind, releasing her hands wherever they fell.
she often got distracted, as the world seemed so small, yet so gigantic at the same time, her attention could never just be held to one thing for long periods of time. she's a social butterfly. she liked to flutter, but she also enjoyed being alone, because no one could replace herself. she knows who she is, but not who she wants to be.
she never thinks about the girl behind her eyes that sees those flaws and cherishes them. she doesn't notice the way her eyes light up when she runs a hand through her hair and they fall against her cheeks like the sun first greeting the earth at dawn.
that girl read her as if her story was filled with transparent pages, letting herself become familiar to her sheer viridity. familiar to her flaws that the world seemed to cower from, from just her.
the difference between the two didn't phase her, because as much as she tries to be, she knows no one can hold perfection in their grasp, even if it's for a second.
she doesn't want to, anyway. she loves her just just the way she is. with her smaller than average eyes, and horrible singing voice that made the birds in the sky cower in embarrassment.
her heart and mind are both the messiest things she has to live with, but she wouldn't have her any other way.
