I once knew a girl
I was going to start out with I once knew a girl, but I never really knew her.
I would say that her sleeves were as long as the list of dreams inside her head.
And that the only reason her sleeves were long, was because her arms told stories
she didn't want people to know, and the reason her list was long was because she
was sad and her dreams kept her afloat.
Or maybe she did want people to know, or at least notice. And maybe her unachieved
dreams were the reasons she was sad. I don't know, I don't really know her.
Sometimes I want to scream at people, you don't know me. But then again,
neither do I.