consumed.

twenty seven \\ perfect.

elle mae was seventeen when she died. i loved her, but i wasn't in love with elle mae. she was my best friend. but she was beautiful. she was gorgeous, even. she had pale skin, green eyes and pixie cut red hair. it was natural, but it was so bright people would often ask if she dyed it. i don't know why. her eyebrows were red too.

elle mae had a beautiful singing voice. she was very quiet, but she was nice. little kids loved her. animals too. she told me that she felt like snow white sometimes. when i was around her, i felt like i was in a movie. or maybe a book. she didn't fit in the world that i knew. i never told her that, though. maybe i should have. i think she would have smiled. she really liked to smile.

i find myself thinking about her a lot. i wonder if we could have worked. i never wanted to try because i was too afraid of losing her. but i lost her anyway. and she never knew how i felt.

i'm sorry. i'm getting distracted. i could write forever about elle mae. my notebook is filled with her. so i won't fill this page up too. but the fact of the matter is that she was, and if there is a heaven somewhere, and sometimes i like to believe so because i can't stand the thought of it not existing, still is, perfect.