honey lips and eyes that told more than her words. she was an embodiment of late night poetry and the rustling sea by the northern coast of france. hands like those of a child, but much more articulate, as were her feet. a heart like a frail little bird. god had sculpted her delicately, with a gentle hand; for she was like the timid rising of the moon on a grey night, the remains of a sunset. she walked like a background dancer and melted into the air when no one was watching. her soul trembled with the energy of this universe.
flowers grew between her bones, light wrapped itself around her wrists. she did not exist in time as much as in the words she poured onto paper. she was a memory, a resident of the past. she was a girl who lived behind the clouds and only descended onto soil when a bridge was forged in the sky. no one saw her in the present otherwise.
