She puts hearts on things she shouldn't.
She cries at everything but death.
She waits for no one and all.
And can't comprehend grace.
She's a star burning out and running free.
She's everything that's not.
And everything I should be.
She's careful and weary of all living things.
But smiles at death and winks confidently.
Like crumbled words on damp paper.
Fleeting but powerful indeed.