Her smile. The strength at which she can throw a damn dodgeball. Her past. Her present. Her uncertain but passionate future. Her capability to compartmentalize. Her boldness.
The pain beneath her smile. The strength she lacks. Her past. Her present. Her passionate, passionate, but unknowing future. Her incapability to be okay in anywhere she doesn't feel loved, but the way she ables herself to love me. Her untrusting nature. Her cuts.
If I could give her a hypothetical name...it would be 'Rylynn' because the song I'm listening is called that. It reminds me of her...
I walked into her room and it reeked of blood. Not a one week out of the month kind of thing...rather a thing that would make me aware of the 30 gashes to each arm...a kind of smell that would tell my brain immediately of the gashes under her ribcage and the scars on her abdomen. The sort of aroma that would lead directly to the sears in her legs, knees, and even calves. It was hard to see anything but torture in her. Though completely sober, her mind was in the clouds. Rylynn was gone long before I ever found her.
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