let me tell you a story about a girl who ties brilliant little bows onto boxes of poetry, who puts prose in an envelope and seals it with a kiss.
her walk is steady, not at all deterred by the mind inside her skull: a garden constantly blooming with white lilacs and occasional weeds (because you cannot always control the plants you grow), but she waters them all the same.
and if you've ever stood in the eye of a hurricane, or the vortex of a tornado, then you know what it's like to see her tear herself apart even if everyone else is screaming at her to keep herself together.
but if you've ever seen a sunshower, then you know what it's like to see her smile and laugh and pick up the pieces with unyielding grace.