She had a smile that twinkled at the curve of her lips. A laugh..like when happiness tickled a kid.
The dark of her eyes was sad mostly but sometimes it sparkled. Like she was trying to break away and yet was in love with her shackles.
She was hurt, broken into pieces in parts unknown, yet holding it together like repaired with gold.
He knew she was torn, ruptured, and damaged.. but all he could see was how beautifully she was sewn!
She always had that about her, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world when she wrote. She wrote because she needed to write, because she hoped someone will listen or because writing will mend something broken inside her or bring something back to life. She was stubborn, she was wise. She was immoderate and volatile. She spoke through her eyes, and mostly wore a disguise.