Sketches (one)

She used to be the one who kept her colours close.
Until she lent them to me.
You should see her on the first days of every time she loves because it's like she's kept all the colours again except they're inside her now, all lit up.
Niceness is the band-aid she puts on her own wounds but it takes words for her to heal.
She's been on pedestals but she doesn't know it, she's too busy skipping sometimes and her hands carve birthday wishes that wrap around your heart like the blanket you're secretly never going to give up.
Oh, she can be moody and her walls can't be scaled and sometimes she retreats as soon as the first vulture is out.
But if she loves, it won't matter if your intestines aren't really inside you any more, she'll still fight with a double edged sword.
You wouldn't understand her all at once; there's a lot to take in.
But you'll like her easily enough, because that's the way she is.
She'll dance. Sing. Make. Laugh. Love.
She'll care.

Be careful with this girl, she's more.

And I'd be lost without her.