She was beautiful, and not the kind you get use too.
She didn't have perfect skin, or perfect hair, or a perfect body.
but she was beautiful.
Her mind was beautiful, and her smile.
The way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she loved and the way they glowed when she was sad was beautiful; they burned as if there was a burning cyclone inside of her and she would burn anyone who crossed her path.
She was beautiful for the way she wore holes in her jeans and how her shoes were always dirty and her hair frizzy and unkept.
She was a mess but it was beautiful, and real. Definitely not something you could get use too.
And the way she wrote poetry during math class, and sat by herself at lunch, and drew, was beautiful.
But one day she came to school with a bruise that covered her whole shoulder.
No one asked her about it but everyone looked.
Everyone looked at her shoulder and she looked at the ground.
Then one day as she was sitting by herself, and I watched as a guy bumped into her and they're eyes locked; and her emerald green eyes looked at him the way I looked at her.
As the days went by they talked more and more, and she began to sit with him at lunch. Leaving her table behind, empty and forgotten.
She began to change.
She wore clean shoes, and had her kept and tamed. Her eyes didn't burn bright anymore, but she was still beautiful.
As she fell in love with him, and changed herself; I found her beautiful began to fade.
She had perfect skin now, and the perfect hair. and for once she felt beautiful.
But I had gotten use to it.
Her mind had gone to a different place.
I was use to her beautiful now and I didn't like it.
But she liked it, and I could never understand why.
She continued to come to school with bruises on her body that no one else noticed but me.
Because everyone payed attention to the way she flipped her hair behind her back as she laughed and she was beautiful. She was beautiful beyond explaination, but no one appreciated it as I did. She no longer wrote beautiful poetry because she had left that part of her mind closed.
And I wanted to tell her how beautiful she was but I couldn't, I couldn't simply because I was part of the people she had become.
She sat across from me at our table, of perfect people. and I knew it was just my place, but not for her, no.
She deserved to use her beautiful mind.
