she is an art

She is never the most beautiful girl in the room. She is never the girl who would turn heads. She looks pleasant, yes, she is pretty, and people would stare at her when she smiles because her smile is never perfect. She has the kind of uniqueness that you would never find in any other girls. She is far from perfect. She has an aura of imperfection, slightly awkward, yet slightly open to the world. She is just of average height, so she is not superior in her height. She is not small or petite, so she cannot be described as cute. She is not extremely fit, just of the average body size, and she has runners’ legs. Her hair is natural and falls into place every time she sweeps it up, trying to keep them into place.

She is never the most attractive person in the room. When the girls walk in, the people woo. She will always walk to the bar of desserts, standing there, taking her pick on what she wants for dessert. She hardly has proper meals, because she enjoys the sweets in her mouth. She loves chocolate, she savours peanut butter and she is the queen of pastries. She would always go through the crowd if she is in the room, searching for people to talk to, people to listen to. She always asks that question of hers, “Tell me your story, please?” and people would look at her and open themselves up to her.

She lives in the stories of the world. She creates another world for them in her head. She imagines things that can and cannot be done in the reality and she paints her dreams in words. She is bad at language, so bad that she cannot describe her feelings, her emotions to the people around her. She feels so much, yet she can’t describe a thing and she would just stare at you, hoping that you would understand all the things that she is feeling inside. She writes, her feelings, her emotions in words that are not meant to be. She describes the sky as if she is describing a lady in blue, gliding on her feet towards the ocean, searching for the end, yet not finding, ending up with a treasure box, filled with tears from the ocean, pearls. She draws, trying, but she can’t put the picture she feels out in strokes. She tries, closing her eyes, feeling the picture, yet failing each time and she has to put down her pencil, her brush and she would sit there, crossing her legs, imagining the things that she can’t put out of her head. She opens her eyes and she wonders, what if the world knows what she is thinking, wouldn’t it be wonderful if everyone can feel the overwhelming emotions that she has.

She is not the most humorous person in the room either. Oh, she is awkward. She finds weird things funny and she laughs at the wrong moments. She has to walk away from the crowd when people fall because she might laugh, yet then with a smile, she would walk back into the crowd and is the first one to offer help. She laughs with her imperfect laugh, her imperfect hair falling back, as she holds up her hand in the air, curving her hair back to the back of her ears, soft as silk, mysterious as stardust.

She is so imperfect, she cannot be the piece of work that God has created for every reasons. She is so imperfect that she is looked at.

So, when she stands at the balcony of her apartment, looking down on the streets, imagining the stories of the people walking by, a poem is written about her. This poem, cannot be described, but it can be felt. There is a song to her, there is a song that no one would understand but the ones that see her perfection underneath her imperfectness. She is impossibly true to nature, holding the whole universe together. She is dancing to her music, the music that the universe has to offer. A kind of silence settles around her, reminding the people that there is a kind of peace to her, a kind of peace to this world that has been long forgotten.

She might not be the most beautiful and she is definitely not the most attractive, but she has a certain kind of aura. She is captivating, she is gorgeous. When you talk to her, you would never want to let her go. She listens to you like you are everything to her, and you are. She believes in every stories in this world and she thinks that you have one of the most significant stories in this world, because you do have. She will tell you over and over and over and over again:



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