She wears a different colored and patterned undergarments which never fails to baffle those who may catch a glimpse of one or the other, if not both.
She walks as though no one acknowledges her existence, as though she is but a ghost in a sea of living, breathing humans.
She doesn’t know how much attention she draws to herself. She is ignorant in that regard but not in others.
Her legs are covered in scars and bruises consistently and so she believes she isn’t beautiful, because who wants an abused doll?
A doll, who, is afraid of intimacy and who doesn’t know what it feels like to be loved- despite her past filled with suitors, but they lied about such precious things.
She wonders if she should seek out those who are broken like her or perhaps strive for those who are “whole”.
She focuses on the smaller things of the bigger picture, silently painting the bigger picture on the ceiling of her skull.
She wants to travel the world and see with her own two eyes what has been presented to her in pictures so many times before.
She isn’t afraid of her own death- but rather she’s afraid of how those who love her would take it and that’s one of the reasons she hasn’t let go.
She struggles to find that middle ground, the one she isn’t sure actually exists but she searches anyways for it’s something to do.
She is often deemed the peacekeeper without volunteering but she can also be the bringer of war.
She doesn’t know what she feels anymore and it’s tearing her apart.