She smelled of old books and great stories
If you looked upon her you could see all the lives she lived through in all the pages she read
Like the ink left the paper and found a home within her skin
She was a walking novel with hidden stories living inside her head
When she spoke the world grew silent just to hear the untold words she held tightly within
As if her words were oxygen and without them no one could breathe
Her eyes the color of stormy skies
If you looked close enough the black in her eyes was an endless void, a doorway to the world she hid inside.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 7:22 PM UTC
She smelled of old books and great stories
If you looked upon her you could see all the lives she lived through in all the pages she read
Like the ink left the paper and found a home within her skin
She was a walking novel with hidden stories living inside her head
When she spoke the world grew silent just to hear the untold words she held tightly within
As if her words were oxygen and without them no one could breathe
Her eyes the color of stormy skies
If you looked close enough the black in her eyes was an endless void, a doorway to the world she hid inside.
