To N, its been 13 years since you walked through that door in that orange dress, and I still can’t imagine finding someone I’d love more
She wore sorrow, wrapped around her like a blanket
And a crown, made of heartache.
She wore clothes made of fine threads
That had been weaved from grief
And she wore anguish, in a
Necklace around her neck.
She wore shoes that were fashioned with fear
And bracelets dipped in unhappiness.
She wore her insecurities, in a
Scarf around her neck
And loneliness, in a belt around her waist.
She was a crazy kind of brave, wearing
All her imperfections on the outside
For everyone to see.
No one could break her, for
She wore pain, with grace that would
Put a ballerina to shame.
-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore