wanderlust

she was a  s e v e n t e e n  year old girl from nowhere [or was it everywhere?] with dark hair and long eyelashes and skin that was always pale white. when she was young she played in the poppy fields of greece and when she got older her tongue started yearning to speak italian and russian so that she could travel to other far off places.

she was born on a friday between two ice storms, and the first word she ever heard was  b e a u t i f u l. her mama told her that when she first opened her dark blue eyes, her pupil was surrounded by a ring of pure white. the blue stayed but the white turned to green [and from then on her eyes were always her favorite feature].

she always had nightmares, never good dreams, but maybe that’s because she could never stop  d r e a m i n g  with her eyes open.  all she ever wanted was dirt roads and stars and mud under her fingernails.

[maybe one day, when she’s older, she’ll take a crinkly old map and a pocketful of cash and all the languages she managed to learn

and she’ll go exploring.]

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