This.* This is her. This is the girl you fell in love with. And it confuses you so much to see yourself right where you are right now, because you've had your fair share of battle scars and open wounds in this half-struggle, half-relationship. But you're still here, and she's still here, and you're still together. Sometimes you get lost in the middle of your sentences just thinking about the way she never tells you everything, the way she forgets to comb her hair, the way she doesn't like to hold your hands. This is her, and you still have yet to know some things about her that will make you even more baffled.
She's born to walk the face of the earth, to explore the world and all its nooks and crannies. She's made to take care of herself; she spends her time writing paragraphs about the places she's never been to, and how she'll meet people and try to get a place to stay in for the night after wandering around foreign cities. I'm telling you, never ever try to enclose her with your arms, trying to assure her that you'll never leave her and that she is your home. This is her. You fell in love with a traveler, and she'll never stop discovering things. But you're her home, and she always tells you, "Leaving home feels good, but coming back feels even better." And that is when you know she'll stay.
She's born with the sharpest tongue, but with the softest heart. You know this all too well to deny this. All the arguments, all the heavy silences, all the walking away, all the screaming, and all the other things that made you feel so brittle and feeble -- it's all because of her. She has, inside of her, all the words that she knows will break you apart, but chooses to hide them all away somewhere in the room inside her head. She's born to confront, and she does it out of love. She sounds like she has the guts to snap your ribs and kick your teeth out, but the only truth is that she wants you to take her fists and kiss her knuckles. This is her. You fell in love with the girl who can't tell you what the truth really is. You fell in love with the girl who could only use rage to mask whatever it is that's shaking inside her. But she holds herself still and plants kisses on your forehead to calm down, and she holds your trembling bones from the aftermath of her words. She ends up quiet, as if the silence is the only apology she can offer. You need words, but she says nothing at all. And that's when you know she'll stay.
You fell in love with the girl who's got the emptiest eyes among the people you know, but that's only so if you don't look a little closer. She's born to be frustratingly inconspicuous, and you never get a full grasp on her. She's vague, in too deep in the thought of finding whatever it is that she's meant to find, and it kills you to know that you can't keep up. At least, not yet. You fell in love with her -- the girl who never stops making art, who never stops writing songs, who only jots down the sad things and never the happy things. She's born to keep things from other people, especially the ones that she finds special. Her eyes are only the emptiest after a fight, and only the fullest when the tears cloud her vision, forgetting to concentrate on you and the rest of the world. This is her, and it confuses you because you still stay. And then she unravels, and you watch her, like a flower bud opening up in fast forward. She breaks apart in half with sighs and tears, tired limbs and heavy eyelids. She opens up for you to see. Then you remember why you stay. Then you remember why she stays.
This is her, and this is only the tiny part of her quiet existence. And you're still you. This is the both of you, and you can either take it or leave it. There is no in-between.