By Lizzie Odell, TIWP student
She was completely whole and yet never fully complete. She was beautiful in an untouchable way, like the man in the moon when a piece of his face is always hidden. I never went looking for her that day that she appeared in my life, as though she was meant to be there. She was forcefully and unapologetically herself. She was magnificent in her indifference and yet cruel in her apathy. She was rare. And I wouldn’t say I loved her. For I never truly knew her. And I couldn’t have. She never would have let me. Or anyone else. But if she had… I would have crawled into the oceans of her mind and never come up for air. The day we met, I watched the stars dance in her eyes. I watched the fire swirl up from the depths of her soul and through the space between us. But the seasons changed around us and the months swirled past and on a Tuesday morning in September, I awoke to find that she was no longer the beautiful soul that I had known. And I watched with despair as her fire went out. And the stars in her eyes faded one by one, before disappearing completely. That last night when I reached below her chin and tilted her head up to mine, where sparkling hues had once watched the world laugh… I could see nothing but dulled spheres. I can’t write about her anymore. I tried so hard to describe how she walked. How she spoke. How she laughed. But I can’t. I guess it’s because everything I write resembles far too closely the suicide note that she never left behind. I guess I really didn’t know her after all.