She sits next the window with a little notebook in her hand. No one knows what she's writing about because her dark hair covers the pages. Sometimes, though, her hair is pulled back in a messy bun with a pencil. You can see her glowing eyes, as if she can see stories taking place right in front of her. I can almost see them, too. She runs her hands up and down the pages when she's thinking. Sometimes I see little doodles of characters and object. I glace at her repetitively, but we never make eye contact. She's like a silhouette across a bride I can never get across. Distant yet so close. I know her, I know her well. She doesn't know that, though. She's been wounded once. I can tell. I wish I could help. Not to cure, but just to care.

Song: Weird Hills by Janani K Ja

It's not really my favorite song, but it's really good and I think my voice sounds great with it. So yeah. Listen to the song or I will nibble your toes.