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Rated: E · Draft · Community · #2141416
Have you even been infatuated with someone and just can't understand why?

She danced, but not in the normal way that a person would.

When she decided to dance, which actually, now that I think of it, has never happened before, she was quite unusual.

She danced in a way that a flower would dance in the rain.

Or like a bee would dance as it approached the person that had swatted it away, ready to end its life for the sake of their pain.

And as she danced, her lips moved. Not in time with the song, it was clear she had never heard this tune before.

But they moved as if she were telling herself what to do.

Or as if she were telling herself it were okay to be moving her body in this peculiar manner.

It was unseen.

I had never witnessed anything like it before.

This person, this young girl, turned woman so soon.

Turned woman by the way she moved her hips and swung her hair.

Turned woman but the way she didn't care who was watching, it could be seen that, she was doing it for herself.

More woman than any other woman in this place.

Hard to believe she was only thirteen, or was she sixteen.

Hell maybe she was twenty.

I still don't remember her name. Its funny how that works.

I have spent hours a day with this girl,

And she refused to tell me her name.

She refused to answer any question about herself now that I think about it.

Why is that?

It's not like she has anything to hide, no one has secrets in this place.

Not even me, the person everyone was dying to know and yet knew everything about already.

And strangely enough, if you asked anyone here who that girl was. The girl that had been here just as long as me, six long weeks, they could not tell you anything about her.

Not even her name.

So eventually when she got sick of people asking.

And eventually she did respond.

But not with the truth of course.

I know this because every day her name changed.

Although i feel as if she told the truth once, but no one would really have known.

When she spoke she wore no expression. Much like when she dances, I see.

It doesn't make much sense to me.

How this one girl, can stir so much inside of me, without her even knowing.

We talk every day now, I'm one of the only people she will acknowledge.

I don't know why, but I should be used to it.

Everyone acknowledges me, why would she be any different?

Because she does more than acknowledge me, she consumes me.

And unlike every other person, she didn't want me to know who she was.

She didn't want me to remember her. Face, name, age.

But wow did i long to.

I want nothing more than to consume her the way she does to me.

Every time she sets her eyes on me.

As if she is looking not through me, but into my very core.

She could look into my existence, and act as though she had seen nothing at all.

And she could walk away from me, so easy. Unlike any other person here.

They always had to start the conversation.

But of course they would, they all want to know me.

But not her.

We spoke by chance.

The greatest and worst thing to ever happen to me.

I didn't even know it was her that was speaking at first.

Her voice did not match her face.

It still does not, but now that i think of it.

I feel her voice matches her soul.

Absent and yes, so present that the wind shifts and moves around it. Sliding around like silk sheets on the softest of skin.

Even the world has yet to grasp this girl.

Not even the world.

And yet, here she is dancing in front of me. As if she had but put her to do just that.

As if this were her purpose in life, and if she didn’t do it right, she would have failed at her life's true destiny.

Was that her name? Was it Destiny?

She said it was once, on a Thursday in November.

She told me her name was Destiny, and she was 19 years old.

She said she was from Texas, but she didn’t grow up there.

It’s hard to tell what ethnicity she is.

Asian? Hispanic? Middle-eastern? African- American?

Maybe she was all of these things.

But I knew for a fact she was not like me.

She was not a typical Caucasian person like everyone else her.

Like me.

Like Owen, the boy down the hall.

Or Lisa, the girl next door.

She told me that was her name too.

Lisa, from Chicago. 15 years old. She said it in September.

And the crazy thing is, no matter what age she would say, it would not be hard to believe.

She had a face that did not age, and ageless face.

As far as anyone knows she could be in her late twenties.

But she carries herself as if she is in her early forties.

Responsible, and just so damn mature.

Surly she was not 15.

But the way she eludes you, almost child like.

Maybe she is 15.

Looking at her makes me think that age should not be a thing.

It makes me feel as though we are all wrong for being so, readable.

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