She's gorgeous, you know. Like a model. A movie star. Right off the pages of your battered poetry notebooks. She's technicolor but sometimes she wishes she could just be black and white. Fade into the woodwork of this town. The cracked pavement echoes back her name a million times and did you know that her favorite things in this entire city are the trains rushing by at all hours of the day and night. She doesn't believe in god but wishes upon every single star she sees. She also wishes whenever her pretty little girl with a bow in her hair texts her with the time and the words ((Make a wish, darling)), or whenever it's 11:17 and she wishes on dandelions and clouds and faeries and the wind and eyelashes and a million other things. She's a firm believer in wishing. And she always wishes for the same thing. Face upturned, eyes closed. Everything. But not in a greedy way. She just wants a chance to experience it all. To say that she has really lived. She has had sex with boys and girls. She smokes. But only on occasion. Because she thinks it's pretty. In an Audrey Hepburn Ingrid Bergman kind of way. She writes furiously on any scrap of paper she can find because she doesn't want to forget a thing. She photographs her world so someone else might see the beauty in her simple little town. She is a cubs fan for life. (Two Believe wristbands on her left wrist that she never leaves the house without.) She sings loudly but usually out of key. And loves herself for that. She reads Stephen King religiously. Takes his word almost as her bible. She laughs loud and does not care what anyone thinks of her when she is really being herself. She loves deeply. Spins to feel alive. She believes because that is the only way to make it. She is really a faerie. Just like tinker bell. And if you don't clap your hands to show how much you believe in her, she will burn out or fade away. She wants to save you and all of your worlds. She has strength that nobody has ever seen but she wants to give it away because there are others who need it more than her. She is lost. But she is home. [She is your Konstantine]