"I wish that my head was my own notebook. I wish every single one of my thoughts were written down. Okay, it doesn't have to be a notebook. It can be an air sick bag for all I care. I am this person inside my head I could only dream to be. She's so open, so alive, she's so thoughtful and she is brilliant. She dreams of things I cant' imagine on seeing. She sees colors, not words or people. She sees rainbows of colors. She is life. She breathes flowers and exhales master pieces of art. She excels in education, music, and art. She is the person I can only be in my head. I'll keep her there. She's safe there. She hasn't been hurt, she hasn't seen pain. In my eyes, there's still hope for her. I bet her heart is full of love and compassion. The kind of compassion that's been torn from my eyes, my heart, and my finger tips. Her lips are untouched and so soft. I could only imagine what she is capable of. I'd probably hate her if she was real. I'd probably find some reason to hate her. And I'd probably tear her, from limb to limb. I'd make her cry, just to watch her mascara run. But, I bet even then, make up smeared, eyes red and puffy, I bet even then she's still beautiful."
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