Her eyes were filled with tears that she obviously tried to hide from the cynical popularity while her bitter heart was beating faster and faster at the thought of her delusional and unhappy reality. Her name did not resemble anymore to her emotional condition. They both formed an oxymoron, making her a sane person that has been locked up into her own internal sanatorium. In her mind there was only one person that could set her free. The whitish walls, the unpleasant clothing and the mass of psychically sick people led her to the conclusion that she was a lunatic like the rest of the world.
I was looking at her neutrally, trying hardly to hide my judgmental and interrogating look. I sensed that she needed space and silence. I would sympathize with her pain if she let me but I did not dare to say a word. Her sadness silenced me and her aristocratic skin froze me away. However, even if she was flooding into that profound sadness, she was notably wonderful and fearless. Behind her sorrows there was a warrior, someone who needed affection and motivation in order to get up on her feet and dazzle the world.
Her ponytail reminded me of a petite girl that had no worries tormenting her soul. Perhaps she was that blithesome child and I was just misinterpreting her piercing eyes.