She was mysterious, she was difficult to understand, but there was something about her that kept him wondering, he liked the color of her hair, and the way her veins reminded him of tree roots, which brought back memories of his grandfather, he had a pine tree outside his front porch, and when it slowly started to die he did too, they both went quick and peacefully, so they say, I don't believe so, but that's a whole different story. Her skin was always goose-bumped, and her eyes were more gray than blue. She seemed calm, like a downtempo piano love song, but if you push the right buttons she'll come undone and cause a disastrous tornado out of swear words and her middle fingers. She doesn't seem to give her heart away, but he's hoping he'd be lucky enough to have her wear her heart on her sleeve, and love him whenever she felt like. She comes and goes, like a fast moving freight train, and he's hoping to catch her before she's out of sight, before it's too late. She never stays long because she enjoys being like an enigma, she doesn't want anyone to understand her because that means she's one step closer to becoming normal. But he hopes that he can put the pieces of her heart together like a puzzle, and figure out her soul like it were a riddle. He always watches her trying to figure out a way to understand her because he is as determined as the little sailboat sailing across the ocean to get back home in a terrible storm. But she is the storm that keeps blowing him further away from home and the waves that are keeping in spinning in a circle. And she reads all the time to help her add to the mystery of her life, to pick up new words, new actions, and new ideas so that they never figure her put. She comes and goes, every time coming back with a new hair color and a new wardrobe, and of course a new attitude. He hopes that he can get to know her a little bit more every time she's around but every time she leaves she changes and he can never figure her out. He can't forget her, no matter what. He tries to forget her face, but it's like his eyes are Polaroids, and they snap pictures of her face over and over again, he's losing his mind. He needs to talk to this girl, he needs to at least figure out her name. He's forever misses her, in ways he cannot tell her. He misses seeing her walk into his work, he misses her scent, he misses the little things. If only she was his to hold, if only he could take a taste of her lips.  He wondered if she'd like taking walks to the lake, and maybe skipping rocks across the water, maybe getting to know her, maybe getting an extra hour to admire her dimpled cheeks, or her freckled nose. He can see the scars in her eyes, he wonders if she can see the scars in his too?¿ he wants to know who's killing her, does she want to know who's killing him too?¿ He realizes how alike they are, but he still hasn't figured her out. He doesn't realize that he doesn't even understand himself yet. He doesn't know how she looks at him or that she tries to piece together her heart like a puzzle also. He doesn't realize that he can't understand her because she doesn't understand herself. She knows that she can't discover who she is and she won't understand who he is but she can try all she might, reading the mystery books to help find ways to solve this challenging puzzle to discover what really goes on in his and her minds and heart. He doesn't realize that he's another puzzle and he just hasn't figured out how to open the box.