Her haircut suites her. Her bangs are draped across her forehead, cut in a straight line, hiding her face. Her long locks almost distract me from her plain face, but I pull the hair away and look beneath it. I look at her wide eyes and see color. Only color. The color is on the surface of nothing. She looks as though she is in shock; she is frightened. The corners of her mouth are slanted downward because she puts effort into her frown. Her skin is pale and her eyes are dark, her hair being the balance between the two. Her hands are placed within one another as they lightly rest against her back, seeking comfort that is not found. Her insecurities radiate off her plain white lace dress; she is still lost and alone. Her mind is eager to forget but too scared to try. She would walk stiffly down the road, staring ahead with a blank face, desiring some sort of comfort that is incapable of being found. She is unable to escape her solitude.
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