It was beautiful; yet tragic. The only time she could create her best was when she was feeling her worst. But it still made her feel better because there was always beauty, even when she was sad. She was the kind of girl that loved long quotes, songs that made her cry and people that would always make her smile. But she didn’t feel she deserved anything that made her happy so she dressed in black and pretended not to care but she did; about everything. She cared about her friends, her family, their health, and their happiness. She cared a lot about death, she cared that everyone truly got to live. She cared about people’s stories. She always asked questions. She was curious about almost everything. She worried always about everything. She was scared to do simple things. She was disappointed in herself for having so much fear. She didn’t think about the future very often because she knew there were no guarantees and she didn’t want to carry false hope. She knew love was out there, but she also knew that love didn’t last. It didn’t stop her from imagining though. In her head anything was possible, but only inside her head. She knew the world didn’t contain these possibilities. She wanted one thing; to be happy. And to make her happy she needed someone who loved her, someone who could write something like this about her; who knew her as well as she knew herself but loved her anyway.

She needed me but I was too late.