So, I wrote this poem and I thought I would share....

*Her eyes are blue,

but not as the sky.

They are the feeling you get

when you chew a mint and sip ice water;

a refreshing chill down your spine.

Her skin is porcelain, but absent of the smooth whiteness

if you touch her, she may break;

a china doll

blush on her cheeks, red on her lips

falling from the top shelf.

She lives in a coffee shop on South. It’s the only home she has ever known.

The man behind her in line compliments the weather.

She wants to tell him what she loves about silence, not if it’s been too cold or too hot.

She craves this deeper meaning where none exists.

So she agrees with him, “yes sir, it’s gorgeous.”

She will always agree with him. She doesn’t have an opinion on the mundane.

She doesn’t like small talk; never has.

It’s hard for her to understand

why people would ever speak

about such short things

when there is an endless array

of words to be pieced together

to tell the story

of a much more

important life.

She is a sense of openness.

Full of thought,

emotion and

unplanned adventures

that end in terribly bad decisions.

She is not permanent and

she knows it.

She says

“there’s no such thing as time”

and practices her piece.

She will never be on time,

because of her

crippling fear

of being late for the life

she has already forgotten.

She likes being out at night.

She lives for it.

The people, the sounds, the smells.

There is just something

so different about her

small little town at night.

Sometimes you’ll find her,

stopped

on the top floor of a parking garage

at 3 o’clock in the morning

staring into the dark sky.

This is her happy place.

She is an open field in the dark.

A two a.m. sort of sadness

that leaves you

feeling fresh come morning.

She is now.

and will always be the present.

There is nowhere

else she could live.

Thanks for the read!

*Please excuse the spacing