she wishes she has lovely knees, instead she has a lovely way to see the world. she doesn't believe in umbrellas, only the stars in the midnight sky and the raindrops running down her neck, arms, legs, spine.
she does not get along with logic. logic is not wisdom, creativity is. she wakes up in the middle of the night and scribbles her thoughts on post it notes: through the forest, down to your bones.
she sits on his bed and orders one beautiful sunrise after another. she says: let's reinvent what magic is. he says, i miss your magic when you're not there, she says. where do yawns go when no one catches them?
she loves making discoveries about the world: in the middle of the night, she ran to the top of the hill to find the town was shining. at four in the morning, the world is magic because the sun has not yet had a chance to change anything.
she says: i have a telephone wire for all your thoughts and old sneakers. she says: on the rooftop is where you find the sky and most people forget this.