She

She was the first ray of sunlight that touched your eyelash in the morning, the humming of a honeybird after the midsummer rain. The bright, sparkling shards in a kaleidoscope remind you of a starry night.

She was the zigzag in your straight line. A tiny twist and twirl within your head when you are trying to concentrate, the scent of tequila that lingers on your jacket after the night you are absent from home. The sudden stream of consciousness hit you in the state of caged solitude.

She was the whim and wonder that defined the content

of the rabbit hole present in your dream, the flow of blood in the vein connecting heart and head. The push and pull within the motion of a tide, reaching you and leaving you, but calm after all. The faint, gust of wind that went across your soul.

She was the monologue that echoes. The silence you meant not to utter, but monstrous than any word you ever spoken.