Sketches (three)

She's got a swirl of sparks flitting around her hair and she picks them up one by one to press on the paper, to keep forever.
She's one of the front stage actors because she can not stop words flooding her mouth and pictures that trap eyes faster than a blink.
She's the kind of girl who speaks of heartbreak with a smile and she runs down with me on an up escalator.
She's got a smile that's cruel and mocks but you should see it when she plays with her dog.
She's an accidental friend, the one you never see coming, till she's seeded deep and not going
anywhere.
She's a hipster sway and dresses that way.
She changes opinions, hers and others without bulldozing through anyone.
She's a dance baby who's never waited for an excuse to get those feet tapping and hair flapping in a wild rush to exhilarated laughing.
She's so very yellow, she paints with fingers and smiles and doodles.
She's ruder than a trucker on five cups of laced coffee but she's always on the verge of laughter and how do you even start to hate that.
(You love her instead.)

Sketches (two)

She's dainty on the first glance but only if you know nothing of her.
She knows to smile and point at the exit door.
And sticks her tongue out.
But she wants what she wants and if the shelf is too high, her hands will grow.
She frames herself a hundred times but you've never seen her really laugh.
Not till her room is full and the music is loud and she whittles down to happy.
She's her mother's daughter and she'll scream it from the rooftops.
Her ego has bruises she'll never let you forget.
She's a Shakespearean act all by herself with her phone set to miss.
She's busy busy busy but she's there.
Her soul isn't on paper, she prefers cloth like that.
I think that's where she learnt to stitch people up on the phone at 3 am.

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.