she weaves through crowds with little effort. she will occupy everything there is to be stayed in; your body, your mind, your heart; she will take any space she can get. do not think you can hold on to her. she will always slip through your fingers.

she walks like she is dancing, like she is floating. she is both in your lungs and on your lips; sometimes, it will feel like she is not in either. you will tread this thin line between love and necessity. do not call her your everything. once she leaves, you will be left for dead.

she speaks with a fever that reminds you of your own. she is the girl your mother warned you not to get too close to, but there is something enticing about the way she can warm you up from the inside. don't be stupid. a flame is always a flame, and flames burn.

she has been abused for far too long and yet she remains firm, and constant. she will remind you of the flowers in your soul and the callouses on your hands, tell you that they are equally beautiful. don't be fooled. her heart is heavy, and you must be atlas to carry it.