What does she look like? Who is she really?

You ask me what she looked like? Well… She looked like a piece of art. It’s very simple. Not the kind of art you see on museums, she wasn’t in a huge dress or naked on a stone, and she wasn’t in some bizarre situation either. She was just unbelievably beautiful. To me at least. I don’t think most people would look at her with the same kind of awe that I did… you see, she wasn’t the classic beauty. She had red hair, and very pale skin. Not fair, pale. So pale that on her wrist, green lines were marking her veins and purple bloodlines was to be found on various places of her body. She also had lots of freckles… especially on her shoulders. That was the most beautiful part of her. Her shoulders. And her collarbones. She was very skinny so the bones pressed on her skin, like they wanted to break free, to get some air, to run away and hide… I guess that was all she ever wanted too… To hide and be free and breathe.
Then there were her eyes… They were big and sort of round… and the orbs had such a peculiar colour. Green with a yellowish ring around the pupil. The rest of the iris was a mix of deep blue and dead grey. She always said they had the same colour as steel. She always lied… lied about the little things to feel pretty. In her eyes, she was never good enough. I’m even lying a little here, because I saw her as something she never were and still is and like my own piece of art. The most priced part in my collection. The most priced…
I’m sorry, I seem to be loosing track of my thoughts. Where was I? Oh right:
Her eyes. Weird colour, but she had the longest and most amazing eyelashes I’ve ever seen. And she had dark-eye syndrome… It’s a thing were you look like you haven’t slept for days with huge dark circles around your eyes, but you can’t do anything about it. The skin around her eyes were just lavender, whether she liked it or not. She always tried to cover it with makeup, always tried to hide it, and went nuts when she hadn’t slept because the bags under her eyes would make her look even more tired… The fact is she slept most of the time. Just slept… Sometimes, she slept while she was awake; sometimes she slept with dreams and wishes. Most of the time, she was just struggling to keep her head over water and to keep both guards and facades up. I once asked her why she wouldn’t talk about her feelings with me. Then she looked at me, she didn’t smile, but she didn’t look angry or sad either, in fact, she just looked indifferent. I responded to her gaze and froze when I heard the words come out of her mouth; “That… Would be like giving them a knife and just wait for them to place it in your spine, right between the shoulder blades, and cut your back open.”
Imagine… to be so scared of letting people in, to be that protective of your true emotions. I also once overheard what she said when she banged her head against a shelf by accident and her eyes started to tear up. She mumbled to herself; “I don’t cry over pain, I don’t cry. Pain doesn’t matter, it only reminds you that you’re still alive, you don’t cry over pain, don’t cry, never cry. Don’t let them see your weakness.” She never shed a tear, she just blinked a couple of times and walked on.
She was so… Broken…
She liked to get compliments from strangers, she liked to hear that she looked good in their eyes, but whenever someone cared about her and told her that, you could see the panic in her eyes and how she got nervous, said quiet thanks and had to get away… She couldn’t handle it.

Her music was the single most important thing in her life. As she said: “It keeps the voices quiet. Makes them shut the fuck up.” She never talked like a lady, she was cussing and swearing and fuck was her favourite word. I never quite understood what she meant by “The voices keeps quiet” What voices? Why does music make them go quiet? Whatever does she mean by it? I confronted her with those questions a million times before I got my answers. The voices was her thoughts and in her opinion, there was too many and they were loud and unpleasant in ways that I would never understand unless I lived in her head, and the music would give her something to focus on, give her emotions and believes and lies to focus on and it would make the thoughts go away, because the music was a thought of its own. I still don’t fully understand it, but after that, I stopped asking.
She was very straight forward, didn’t hide her opinions and never used the “right” words or phrases. Seemed open about herself and told people what she meant, like she wasn’t hiding anything…
As time went by, I started to realise that the things she told didn’t really make you know her any better, it just created an illusion of trust and that you knew her better than anybody else. Nobody ever really knew her. She was a big pile of secrets, of lies and make-beliefs. She loved the sentence “This is the story of my life, these are the lies I have created” very much. I think I know why now… But on the other hand, I don’t think I’ll ever really know. She was a mess, she loved all of her friends and family more than herself, she would do anything to protect the ones she loved, but nobody ever really knew how to protect her. Such a vulnerable soul, such a fragile heart, such a strong mind.
She had very little requirements for the people she loved. If it was friends: Trust me, make me know I can trust you, respect me, do to me as you please I do to you” If it was a lover: “Make me feel safe, make things seem easier than they really are, love me, hold me, make me laugh”
So simple… But still, she was always terrified of the chance of getting hurt.

She painted her nails bright colours to make life seem more colourful, she kept her lips ready for kisses that never happened, and she had the most astonishing eye-makeup because her eyes was the only part of her face she was proud of. She didn’t really like her nose, it crooked, but again, it didn’t really.
She was only happy when her friends were and when nothing bad happened and when she didn’t have to care. She would rather just go with the flow than make decisions for others than herself. Competing was out of the question too.
She had a big heart, and if she loved you, she would do whatever you needed her to do, another reason that she was taken advantage of multiple times. That didn’t help her trust-problem, now did it?
I think there was only one person in the world she actually really trusted. That she would feel safe to tell everything if she ever needed too. That person, she loved. More than her iPod. I think. She never got upset, she was mostly indifferent and extremely easygoing, but if somebody hurt that friend of hers, she would be furious and if they had been in front of her, she would have snapped their neck or smashed their head against the concrete. If that was what she needed to do, to protect said friend, she would be happy to do that, and forget ALL about her pacifistic vows. Imagine the kind of mind-state she was in, when the person her friend loved, and I mean LOVED, was hurting her more than anything, and yet, she wouldn’t have anything to happen to him. My darling girl was going insane. All she could do was to hold her friend when she cried and wish for it to pass.

I don’t know how I know these things, she never told me, she just shared it, just made me know without words. She is, she was, and she never has been, she is a lie, and such a reality that you wouldn’t dream of it.
She never lived, she died, she still lives, in me, in you, in her and him, and she is writing this shit without reasons.