She was a semi colon kneaded in a sentence.
She was a crack in the ceiling.
She was a kind of girl whose hair was all over the place and mirror was just glass.
I would be lying if I said she didn't cry. But the beautiful part about it was that she wore her weaknesses like her strength. She made tears her sword, wore pain like an armour. And don't you think it was strange that her weaknesses kept her from drowning when nothing else could keep her afloat.