she always thought carmex could heal injuries, like how vick's vapor rub can fix anything
she kissed her knuckles, leaving that greasy stain of shimmery carmex on the cuts that would start to stretch from her excessive typing, and from the way her fingers would curl as she gripped onto the thin paper edges of thousand paged books.
she hates soft covered books, but she reads them anyway because she is an open book, one that everyone thinks they can read, but their perception of her is all wrong!!!
they only read the back and the front, only skimming through the middle of the pages like they forgot to read. all good books progress in plot, and if you read only the middle pages, you are forgetting that there is an end, that the plot is not unchanging.
she's not predictable, you just know everything she's told you about her that there is to know above the surface- still there is so much more packed inside of her pages, if you end up buying the book, read between the lines.
she's not a narcissist, in fact she only needs the constant attention to prevent insecurity - you forget that this is just like how every plant needs some water not to die and sunlight just for attention, the cherry on the cake
and so what if she has some character flaws, even your favorite character is detached. how can she live her whole life knowing she is but a fictional character that exists solely in the world of books, her own world able to be closed at any time? that is why books must stay open, like arms to the strawberry fields in the spring (forever)
she hates anything that isn't surreal azure blue skies and heaven-sent sunbeams, anything that isn't cute daffodils and leaping bunny rabbits
she is in front of you, any other conception of human to human communication is merely virtual, she doesn't need to accept you on instagram, she's accepting you right here, right now
if everything depends on the self, then is the self the mind, or is our mind controlled by the government? - to be honest, who cares, as long as the spring solstice is in season and she can smell the pungent scent of her carmex lip balm, avoiding the angry hornet buzzes and the stings.
the spring has kissed her so hard and so long, she's never gotten a bee sting. the spring caresses her with its cool dew and vases her like some lavender tulips, so she is sure she never will.
wolf
