She was the kind of woman who wasn’t necessarily the woman of your dreams, but the kind of woman you’d fall in love with, just for one night, before she would scamper off and never see her again, and you wouldn't really mind.
She's not a prostitute, but a thin, free spirited love child who grew up to give her love freely to anyone who wanted it, because she believes that her spirit path. She is the same girl who cries when she is alone, begging for a stable life, without one night intimacies behind the rocks on the shore of the salty crested sea. The type of woman who expects everything yet nothing she gets. She walks fearlessly down blood-drenched streets, just to feel the spirit of the town, to feel the spirit of others. The open, non-judgemental hippy who was a skimpy thirty year old girl who seemed to not have yet experienced the full stretch of puberty; chest flat and a smooth golden stomach. Her skin was dipped in sunshine with long mattered blonde hair, twisted around her bony shoulders. Yet somehow through all the grief she was subjected to in her life, she found comfort in her ragged, ocean waves of emotion. The way they break, she sees as an adventure, or maybe the beginning of a new life, an opportunity to find stability. In those sandy mattered locks that weave her dreams around her shoulders, carrying her fearlessly through the rusty streets.
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