I was seventeen when they finally found me walking barefoot into the ocean. Hypnotic; with too much make-up and not enough clothing, I became the girl who forgot the sound of her own voice.
I gave the fortuneteller forty truths just to hear that we're all made of stardust. Unrelenting, my heart is a thing I wrote out on your skin,
One night, with chaste kisses, while the future spoke to me in broken synonyms--
I was far too young when I heard you find the fictional part of my affections.