Her hair floats delicately down her shouldersThe color of a waterfall as delicate as a brooke.Her eyes sparkling like fireflies dancing in a lush forest after the rain.Her skeletal hands take mine Razorblade bones so sharp they lookLike they’ll slice her paper thin skin at any moment.Her skin pale and delicate as freshly fallen snow Though I’ve seen it mottled purple after after a “fight.”Her rose petal lips stained with the blood arisen from The anxiety of biting down too hard.I steal some chapstick from her shiny pink lips as we tumble around on the bed in a stereotypical pillow fight. Her laugh renews my light, my breath, my energyand continues the play until the clock turns lateand the impending doom of school comes creeping closer.We go our separate ways and the night finally feels cold away from her warm, life-giving touch.