She is not defined by you or anyone else like you. She is not completely defined by her experiences though they help to make up the tangle of invisible threads that dangle along behind her from the moment she heard her name being called to life in the darkness up to this very moment. Not pretty enough, not smart enough, too fat, too skinny, buck teeth, braces, not brown or Asian enough, not white enough… Never ever enough. Enough… Enough… Enough… of your perceptions, your expectations… Enough of what you think she should be, has to be. She is not your creation to mold, nor is she your maker that she should mold you with such discourse. She is but a patchwork of dreams, of hopes, and wishes for something greater. She is a star gazer, a wonderer, a fingerprint smudged eternally on the tick, tick, tick, of infinite time. Skin, my skin… Skin, your skin… Dust… and time… Dust… and time… Dust… ideas… Dust… emotion… Dust… eternal.
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