There was always something about her that was not exactly as it seemed.
The way she held herself, like an old house, bent under its own weight, yet standing tall and majestic, notwithstanding the hidden cracks and dusty cobwebs in the darkest corners.
The way her footsteps echoed in your heart much before they could be heard
in the hallways and across the corridor. Like the mysterious scent that reminded you of a person long gone but still very much there, her footsteps threaten to rip your heart apart with excited trepidation and uncontrollable longing.
The way she spoke to your demons, it seemed like there was no one else who could see you like that ever again or love your fragile heart with all it’s bruises and cuts so fiercely and deeply; and unbeknownst to you, her monsters had made friends with yours hoping to make love to your collective insecurities.
The way her eyes haunted you, through the sunset until the sunrise, pushing you over the edge for a chance to explore them further while she nonchalantly applies more kohl to your bruises.
The way her smile always seemed like an unfathomable mystery.
The way it almost always seemed like a dare.