She was never a lonely soul, not one of those people that pulled away because they didn't need you. Her wrists wasn't covered in scars and she didn't wear tattoos with peoples name in it. Maybe sometime she would laugh and encourage you to tell her more, but she never remembered where the story came from. You could meet her on the street and you would feel like you have known her your whole life, as if she knew everything about you dads alcoholism and your mother affair but the truth is she wasn't even sure if you've met before. She would warm her hands on the cup of hot chocolate, let her golden locks cover her rosy cheeks and let her mind wonder past all the souls she touch, to her own wonderland where her ribs are not blue and heart is not broken.