Her nails are always painted,
in the deepest shade of black.
She dyed her hair freshman year,
she said so it would match
the color of her soul.
Though with her I don't agree,
I see the light behind her eyes,
the light because of me.
Her skinny legs are always crossed,
twice below the knee.
Jeans always cover the tan skin,
she used to not let anyone see.
A necklace dangles from her throat,
she never takes it off -
using the charm to trace her mouth
through her lips,
escapes a cough.
She once told me,
she's always sick,
from anorexia as a teen.
When I asked her why she did it,
"I wasn't good enough, it seemed.
Until you came along,
you showed me how to live. For that,
I'll never repay you."
But by letting me love her,
she already did.
