She once thought wishing on a star was truth, but it’s just a fairy tale, too foolish to keep expectation, part of flesh resting in rib cage easily frails. Storm of memories, flooding thoughts with no dead end, no escape, don’t let them draw; don’t let them mould, I deny to be the way they shape. Take away the breaths; snatch the soul, grab as hard as you may well, for maybe you are uninformed, precious pearl always grows in a shell. Hold her wrist, feel the heat, hold it so tight so you can feel the beat, just hope you might find an exit from this illness of self-conceit. She holds right to choose her way, stop marking the start and ends, stop being her enemy, if you can’t be kind enough to be a friend. Nor complaints, neither grudges, just a humble and polite request, let this girl fill the pages herself, for it’s not yours but her test.
(continuation of part I from January 14, 2015.)