She is the rain and the sky is her dancefloor. Liquor drips from her lips and forgets the smiles of strangers. She is the best part of finding sleep and the hardest part of waking up. Most of her thoughts are deeply roasted in the colors of childhood crayon memories.
I forgot how strong she gave was until I found my self-locked in my shoes for days dreaming awake about the curls of her hair. She is a murder of crows and a buck in the woods made of rare minerals.