she is the type of
girl who finds meaning in the margins, her room is a maze of books stacked higher than most ambitions, philosophy texts with dog-eared pages where she is paused to challenge the thinkers themselves, her
coffee cups litter her desk like soldiers fallen in battle each one drained in pursuit of that perfect line of poetry she will scribble in a notebook, then toss aside for being “not quite right.” she loves
cats, naturally not just because they’re independent, but because they understand silence the way she does both necessary and unspoken oh and
jazz,
well, that’s her soundtrack, its chaotic unpredictable, yet structured in a way that makes sense to her, Miles Davis at
midnight, Coltrane when it rains, she is a walking contradiction, deep in her head, but always present, sharp and observing, a mind you want to explore but might never fully comprehend.
