At the rooftop whispering
I listened to her
Sharing nothing but the cold breeze of the wind around her
Stood calmly looking at the streets down below
A little I knew about her, a thing or two
To dig more was my purpose
Dive deep in her restful thoughts
And read more than I should
Like an unsolved puzzle trying to solve pieces together
But she failed to answer all the questions inside her little head
Young but burned with scars that she will carry for the rest of her life
Then I realized restful wasn't the word
She created her own word that I failed to describe
A word with the definition of juvenileness and complex