She sees the world as though it is in her head: a fantasy land glistening with love where no wrong could occur.
She feels her way through it, never quite fortunately navigating to where she belongs.
She unceasingly acts as a sponge with her surroundings, oftentimes taking on a chameleon-like persona.
She merges with who and what she is around, in a constant search of her own identity.
She is scared and incessantly drained by this trait of her’s.
She feels every emotion immensely and they stagger in highs and lows, fluctuating like tides in the sea.
She jubilates in the emotional highs and agonizes through the lows, all seeming to occur within a matter of time from one another.
She surrounds herself with pragmatic souls to patch the emptiness with what she believes she is lacking, but what she does not see through her rose-colored glasses is that she endlessly brims her cup with what she is naive to.
She is naive to most of everything in this world and, like clock-work, articulates on why she feels pain each time that reality does not live up to how it may be in her fantasy world.
She is conscious of this when she cares to be, which leads most to believe that something about the pain makes her crave more.
She is unconscious, though, of the fact that her head is her own worst enemy.
She is passionate about too many things at once and struggles to find her place.
She lusts the idea of venturing far and wide and achieving amazing things in this life, yet she is a closeted coward.
She grapples with stability often times because she would rather emerge herself into her fantasy world rather than cooperate with reality.
She is her biggest critic, yet she is also her own best friend.
She casts her own limitations onto herself and has mastered manipulating her own mind.
She feels as though nobody can understand her
She is mysterious to others because she has convinced herself that she is singular and incomparable to anyone else.
She purposefully isolates because to her, being alone is a cut above being around artificial people.
She propels in life when she has been wronged, using her pain as a creative outlet, and embarking on new self discoveries.
She constructs a wall between her authentic emotions and any outside forces, refusing to review her raw self as an attempt to protect the purity from the harshness of the real world.
She knows deep down that her missing puzzle piece is awaiting her somewhere among the sea of dull souls, where she detaches from in odd hopes that it will steer her faster toward them.
They are who she has sought after through every dead-ended encounter.
They know her like nobody else in the world does, not even such as how she does.
They know her more; every tick, thought, emotion, and feeling that she experiences, they understand in a way that nobody else has.
They laugh with her about jokes that she thought she could only share with herself.
They lift her out of her lows and smile with her through the highs.
They bring out the best in her and encourage her out of her head.
They are able to detach her seemingly permanent rose-colored glasses from her dreamy eyes and manifest new perspectives on life.
They are her solid ground, and she is a breath of fresh air to them.