She was like those shades of color that need no description. Impeccable and gorgeous in her own ways. 
Her chaos and struggles with herself, was the game she plays.
Her bag contained books, diary and a pen.
Unlike the girls having lipsticks and scents.
She is the adjectives you need to describe beauty. 
Her flaws and scars reflect her story.
She is no one’s hero or a saint. Her life is on her own.
Dependency is not her kind. For good she praises herself, for bad she mourns.
It’s hard to find someone like her, for she is the first edition of a mysterious story by a famous writer; herself.
She is like the night sky, and the daylight seen at the same time. Like the untouched book on the shelf.

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