She was always the lover girl her heart open like windowpanes in spring smiling quietly even when no one watching. wrote breathing — letters to one poems herself building entire worlds from pencil and promise. In those daydreams she soared: some love flowers a stage where glowed under eyes spotlights claps thunder name whispered magic rooms once only imagined. They loved there girl who smiled too easily believed things else saw. But reality isn’t kind dreamers. One morning stars stopped dancing blinked world made cracked glass. No stage. thunder. Just quiet hum of room four walls leaning they knew much. kept but on outside. Inside ink-stained tears fell onto papers stayed up all night fill with dreams big for ceiling above her. Caught crying alone little world finally broke way how: softly. Still writing. dreaming. loving if ever read words.