she’s weird without realizing it, lazy, trying-to-be-tough, lost in universes that don’t exist, can do probably anything in the world wrong. she’s short, and she hates it, but her temper is shorter. maybe she has her head a little too high in the clouds, conscious of small things but can’t remember simple roads. it’s as if the spectacles sitting on her nose show her the world differently from what everyone else sees. her life could be sunflowers and sweet smells and pretty dresses but she prefers blood-red orchids, the smell of thunderstorms and jogger pants.
simply put, she’s trying to fit in but not quite doing it right.