I love her. I miss her. Her beautiful eyes, her innocent demeanor, her short laugh, her sly grin. I miss her.
She is older now. She is tainted by the world. She is trapped by the material world. She cannot go far, she barely has any room to breathe and live free. She is controlled. She is brainwashed by her mother and father. She is not herself. She is someone else. She cries in secret. She laughs in the darkness. She has lost her friends. She is altered. She is someone else. She is dead.
There’s still life in her. There’s still hope. There’s a small well of faith that is dying to break free. There’s something inside of her that is preserving itself to the world. There’s something running and hiding but surviving to live free. There’s still something. There’s still life in her. There’s still goodness. There’s still light.
She is gone. She has left. She is dead.
I still dream.