some kind of dreamer

her feet were always tired, you know.

she was a wanderer. a traveller. built out of cliches with a smile so pretty it could melt your heart. and she followed the stars, you know. if they were covered up by the clouds she followed her dreams, and if she hadn’t slept in ohso long then she’d follow her feet.

sleep always came second with that girl.

those shadows under her eyes were big enough to hide all her secrets in; and yet people always said they saw some kind of dream in her eyes – like the whole world was nestling snug in those sea-green beauties.

her laugh tinkled like bells, you know.

she knew all the best jokes from all the best places, and her mouth was full of stories. and whenever she came to a town, she was sure to give as many stories as she got; sharing her worn out old tales never got old for her.

and she always left folks with twice as many stories as they had to begin with.

she was beautiful, you know. she was powerful like the ocean. elusive and mysterious, with the scents of a hundred different places wafting around her. her boots were covered in dust and her backpack carried everything she loved and her face held the wisdom of a woman twice her age and somehow, despite her laughter and stories and talking, people could only guess at who she really was. the women twice her age would sometimes whisper ‘someone travels as much as she does, gotta be running from something’.

her feet were always tired, you know.



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