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June 17, 2006
The wings of angels hang from her ears. They glitter in the afternoon light - golden, garish, almost pretentious in their beauty. She is like one of the Meliae with her honeyed words, otherworldly but decidedly human. I love her, then, for everything she doesn't try to be - for the spaces in between when she realizes she's trying too hard and falls back laughing. For all the times she's sweet, she's cute and quiet and calm. She is someone differenter in her wiles - her days sad with melancholic smiles - and it is more than enough for me, to watch her dance.