bones

immortal

she seemed like the winter of 1945, crisp and monochromatic, serene and simple. she seemed like the falling rain on a soggy spring day, an ironic little statement that burned tongues and left chapped lips in thin, whispy veils.

she seemed like the kind of girl who had battled the sky, and won, but only after a bloody war full of bombs and crippling words that rained from the heavens. she seemed like the warrior kind, maybe it was her posture, maybe it was her eyes.

she seemed immortal. maybe it was the translucent skin or the wild mass of hair that was almost as wild as her gypsy heart. maybe it was her relentless vocabulary that put the mundane to shame and always brought a type of warmth to her literature teacher's heart. maybe it was because she kept everyone going- and she went on herself as well. immortal, they thought.

she seemed like her eyes could not be brought the darkness of the world, as if they could swallow the shadows and bring euphoria to the wickedest hearts. she seemed like she could touch the dead and revive them, as if she contained magical powers or, maybe, she was an angel of some sort.

she seemed like a cotton candy sweet girl with a soul as old as the stars, not a trace of bitter resentment for anything other than herself, which was ironic. she was immortal- wasn't she?

truth is, she seemed like a lot of things. immortal, magical, something more than everyone who stood around her. they were all dim in comparison to her light, but little did they know even the brightest lights go out.

turns out, she wasn't immortal, not in the least bit, actually. she was a girl, with blood running through her veins, thoughts running through her head. she was girl and she had a date to die, and the date came and went, but she did not go on with the rest of us.