This is a room where the lights are always low,
where the walls are painted in shades of black
and the air smells like ink and silence.
It's a place where words are heavy
and silence speaks louder than anything.
Here, there is a girl who moves like a shadow.
quiet, deliberate, untouchable.
She wears her darkness like armor,
and her femininity like a weapon.
She is not here to stay;
she is here to pass through.
a storm that leaves you changed
and never looks back.
She knows the art of leaving.
Not the loud, dramatic kind.
but the quiet kind,
the one where she simply disappears,
like smoke, like dusk,
like something you thought you had
but never really did.
She doesn't explain, doesn't justify,
doesn't stay long enough for you to ask.
When she goes, she never comes back.
and she is perfectly fine with that.
She is a sad bitch with a dark edge.
someone who has seen too much,
felt too much,
and learned that the only way
to protect herself
is to build walls so high
no one can climb them.
She doesn't let people in easily,
and when she does,
she already has one foot out the door.
There is power in her silence.
a quiet, feminine strength
that doesn't need to shout
to be heard.
She observes more than she speaks,
feels more than she shows,
and carries her pain
like a secret no one will ever know.
She is complicated in a way
that makes people want to understand her.
but she doesn't need to be understood.
She doesn't need anyone
to fix her, save her, or stay.
She is whole on her own,
even if that wholeness looks
a little broken to others.