Friday, August 10, 2012

Made of Paper

She sounds like a dream on paper. Hiding her face behind her soft curls, tangled so her fingers get caught when she brushes it away from her eyes. Her sleeves are long and falling past her hands, dripping like rain water down the car windows. But her curls do more than catch her fingers, and her sleeves hide more than her pale blue nail polish: they are her armor, shielding herself away from any feelings of emptiness. Nothing breaks through her brunette barrier - nothing gets in and nothing gets out.

She sounds like a dream on paper. Every morning she paints cat eyes carefully onto each eyelid, to make her smiles look more genuine. The extra oomph is just what she needs to sway a crowd in her favor. She is a magnet in the room, and everyone is drawn in but her; only she stops and wonders what all the fuss is about - an empty girl with too much make up is all she sees. Her laughter would lighten up the darkest of hearts, even though they're all fake. She draws in so that she knows her facade is working; she is more believable than she ever thought possible.

She sounds like a dream on paper. When you're spilling tears onto her lap, she will rub your back, using her nails just enough to let you know she cares. Whispering into your ear gently, her words engulf you and swim through your head as if they're contagious. It only takes minutes to forget that there could ever be a problem if she's around. Tugging on your heart strings is not a strong enough phrase for the sheer feeling that comes out when you can feel her breathe on your neck.

She's made of paper. Flawlessly smooth to the touch, yet hollow on the inside. There's nothing inside to hurt and there's nothing to give away. 

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