She speaks softly and talks fast because she’s scared of actually being heard. Her back is hunched over and she withers away to nothing because she’s scared of being seen - she’s scared to take up space. She looks at me and then looks away immediately, worried that I’ll see her for who she is, which she thinks is some thing ugly and a body of nothing, but in my eyes, she’s so completely and utterly wrong about that. Beyond her chaotic and dark eyes, where you can catch glimmers of the sadness and pain she has endured for years and years, I see the brightest nebula of colors interwoven within her soul. She is suffocating in darkness and she doesn’t know how to get rid of it for its grasp is so tight on her throat that she has long lost her voice and become a shell of numbed emptiness. I am angry for her - for all the years of happiness she has been wrongly robbed of, trying to live a semi-full life even though every thing is preventing and hindering her from doing even just that. She just wants to breathe, to live and she tries, so very hard to, but it isn’t enough unfortunately. What a shame that the world has taken her radiance and silenced it, forcing her to tuck it away into the deepest parts of her being; and so she might not even remember that all that beauty is there inside of her. She looks at me again and I smile at her, out eyes staring behind the masks we put on for the world. She recognizes my soul and then, for a quick second, right in those same gentle eyes of hers, I see a galaxy of colors explode. Her lips slowly curve into a smile and I am overwhelmed by her evanescent chaos. She is born again.