She.

She had eyes like whiskey and lips like red wine and every time she spoke you wanted to taste each word on your tounge and savour the feeling, like sweet champagne. A head clad with optimism and a heart burdened by curiosity, she was the kind of girl you wrote a song about. She was the kind of girl you would pull your sorry a*s out of bed for at three a.m. when her craving for adventure became so much she felt she would simply burst at her softly sewn seams. She was the one you called an idiot but followed into the dark, because somehow she made every thing seem alright. Something in the way she said, "come on!" made it seem like everything would be okay, just a few more feet and we'll be there, I promise. She was the one with flames in her eyes and secrets on her lips, the one you knew you shouldn't trust but couldn't help revealing everything you had to. She had scars across her knees from battles she never spoke of, because the past is the past and she had no business with anything but the present. 

And she was the one who saved balloons from trees and fed crumbs to the ants. She would tend to your wounds while hers bled dry and she would nurse you to health while her own deteriorated. It took everything you had to hate her, and anything left to love her. She always smelled of used books and creek water and had freckles like constellations. Sometimes you thought she had to be a hallucination, a figment of imagination, and sometimes you wished she was. You wanted to shake all those daft ideas from her head and catch all the dreams she dreamed and hold them in your palm so you could feel the spark and tingle as they bit at your fingers; and you wanted to destroy them because you knew they would destroy her but you couldn't because they were the only things holding her up. 

She was the girl who seemed to fly instead of walk, and seemed to sing rather than talk. A smile sewn on; perfectly crooked and always appearing to be just short of a smirk, she always seemed to know something you didn't, and as much as you wanted to know you we're afraid of the answer. If you gained the courage to ask, she'd reply "Ignorance is bliss," and leave it like a goodbye kiss. She loved the words 'lovely' and 'wonderous' and words like 'sleepy' and 'tummy' and hated words that sounded like endings, like 'goodbye' and 'goodnight' and especially hated endings that ended with 'the end'. And, like me, she was notorious for leaving things unfinished because, well, she couldn't bear the end.