Her brown eyes always seemed black when I saw her.

"Who is that girl over there?"

No one knew.

She didn't exist.

 

I would make exuses to talk to her.

Depression found refuge in her skin.

Ghastly pale corpse of a person.

She wasn't a shell.

I didn't know the person she was.

 

Mosquito--everyone called her.

A rarity in herself.

Words rarely left her.

 

Her mom died when she was eleven.

Those were rumors everyone believed.

Smiles weren't her thing.

Neither were frowns.

 

She was Mosquito. 

She lived by her own agenda.

I admire her and pity.

Drained of life--she was Mosquito.