My girl is like the sky:
with soaring standards, and a different plot every other day.
Bright during the day, beautiful at night.
Full of life and mysteries.
And her eyes speak she’s loving every bit of it.
She fills my canvas with blue, and orange, and red, and grey and black,
and she gets me all laughing with the way she adores her art.

At times, she has been cold as frost.
Detached and unmoved.
She knows I am dying to know what’s killing her;
she looks into my eyes and walks away anyway.

She’s air,
sometimes rebellious, sometimes smooth.
She sets her eyes on mine and moves her finger on my cheek. That’s smooth.
“Kisses with eyes open are fake.”
I close my eyes remembering her words,
and she stirs her breath in mine,
and I wait.
And the moment our lips touch,
she pulls apart. Rebellious!

She’s violent fire.
Independent and unstoppable.
I have seen her smack noses when she’s angry.
She says she doesn’t lose her cool easily,
but I know, it’s the one time she looked back into my eyes and lied to me.

I have seen her turn into a heap of dust too.
Loose and ruined and wasted.
Like a little girl crying because her Barbie isn’t breathing.
I trick off her tears with my fingers,
and she rubs her wet nose on my electric blue sleeve,
and she looks into my eyes and giggles and says:
I love the touch of the fabric.
And I murmur, I love the whole bunch of you.

All and all, she’s magic – pure magic.
You wow when you find a girl like her.
Too strong. Too perfect. Too funny. Too caring.
But she’s too skeptical about love too.
She says she doesn’t know what it is.
And yet, she’s making me believe in it.
And yet, she’s helping me find it.
And yet, she’s making me fall in it. Fall for her. Fall for love. Fall in her love.

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