She’s up all night,
Scribbling letters,
Sipping coffee,
Wrapped up warm.
Always late,
Entering class,
with a pretty smile.
And sunken eyes.
She’s always clumsy,
Tripping here and there,
Music blazing in her ears,
She’s a song,
Gentle yet strong.
Always sitting next to me,
lost in her own world,
playing with her hair,
Smelling of lavender.
She’s a mystery,
A closed book,
Rusted yet precious,
Makes me want
To flip those pages.
Always chatty,
Mingling with everyone,
Asking questions,
Sharing jokes,
But never letting
Anyone in.
Always in my mind,
A mirage
That I seem to follow,
A reality
That seems impossible.
She’s a treasure,
I wouldn’t want to share.
A maze,
I wish to get lost into.
Wordmonger 