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the lost girl


her heart is a compass. her eyes are a map, a plotted course to places she has never been. her past is a constellation of broken stars, a winding path through the woods, a slightly crooked train track. right now, her life is curiosity on a mountain cliff – the updraft of air during a freefall. Chaos invited with precision and purpose – outcome, unknown. she is always where she needs to be, destination unnecessary.

if being in love means being lost, she’s a gone girl. past the point of the no return, beyond the last mile marker for reason, far away from the fog of doubt. she wanders out in the morning light, never unsure. always searching. there are no traffic lights to hold her back. no yield signs. where is the no road, she creates one. where there is no light, she makes one. where there is no hope, she conjures it. some things are beyond sense – and everything about her is magic: her clockwork grace, her unfailing certainty, the way she can tell time by the shadow of a smile. some people search the sky the for true north. she holds it in her heart, no questions. no boundaries. no more going back.

her heart is a compass. she is perfectly, irrevocably lost.

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