There was a girl, just like any other.
Special, just like any other.
She lived in her own realm, next to all the others. In her realm, black was white, and red was blue.
The darkness was intoxicating; the sound of silence suffocating. The empty words and hollow sounds. Heads raised high, feet on the ground.
Her mind is turning.
It yearns for you, and you for me, and me for two, and two for three.
In her world, desire is a box, a cup, a collection of stars. It’s a spider’s web; inescapable and fatal. Souls bound to one another by invisible thread. You can lose yourself in the abyss of love.
Its hold is infinite and endless, for the heart beats to its very own tune and all is shrouded. Ribs are ivory prisons encasing this beating heart, this hollow shell.
In her world, unquenchable hunger drives the skeleton, devoid of compassion and full of pounding misery. Piercing cries and flooding weeps seep into the corridors of the round room. That empty canvas that everyone leaves. Leaves fall from the sky, the mighty sky, up so damn high.
She mines for the treasure.
She mines to keep.
Her hopeless thoughts resume their trails of mindless inklings, taking shapes of echoes throughout the icy canyon. The water taken fancy with the embrace of soiled soil.
In her world, abstract thoughts and unconscious chatter fill the lush forests that patrol the outskirts. The lone wolves and hopeless romantics hide in the society that cowers beneath the conforming skies.
And she lives, trapped in an inconceivable loneliness. She survives, drowning in the sorrow and shards of broken heart beats.
Her blue eyes of wonder remain sealed by the unspeakable truth. Her lips are stained and bound with her unspoken words. She dances on the brink of hopelessness, and flirts on the cusp of greatness. Her hopscotch lines have already been drawn. Her stars have been collected, and counted. Recollected and recounted once more.
In her world, mountains reign from high above, and rain pours down in form of love. Music dances in the air, thoughts wander with no travel fare.
She listens carefully for nature’s forbidden whisper. She looks for the beauty in the sun, raging and reaching. Beauty in the stars, blistering starling bulbs screwed into the fabric of time. There are rips there, too. Imperfections.
In her world, sadness is accompanied by the anthem of death: silence. Desolate like a desert. Loyal, with her for every waking moment. Cloaks of pity adorn the sea of bodies draped in black. Comfort baskets, full of dying flowers and stale bread, but no comfort.
In her world, the stars are strewn across the midnight sky and scattered throughout the Milky Way. The colors bloom and saturate the dark canvas.
In her world, love is this mystical being. It transcends all of humanity and existence. It’s poised, and cold, and limp and warm. It’s strong, unknown, bewildering and inexplicable. It’s a stronger force than that of gravity. It’s the hesitant mercy and merciless beast.
There was a girl, like any other.
Special, just like any other.
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