in her spare time she wrote musicals,
ate peas in nutella, and had
a difficult time explaining her idea
of time travel. she knew exactly
how to do it though.
she thought her hair was gray,
but everyone said it was blond.
gray was more romantic, though.

in her mind, she was three years
old, tutu and pointed feet in front
of the mirror, being not
perfect enough.

she had problems with spelling,
math, and conversations, but
damn was she good in bed.
or at least, so i heard.
she told me once it was a distraction,
because she didn't have enough
money to go pearl-diving
for answers.

another time, she said dreams
smell like cinnamon cookies.
i believed her, because what else could
you do? and they taste like dandelions.
dead dandelions, she said.