Bottom lip is pierced with a small silver hoop; her mouth smells like mangos, and her smile radiates shades of pink, depending on the glow of the sun.
Her dresses are long and flowing and carefree; sometimes they fall at her ankles, sometimes they end above her knee.
Frame is petite. Not weighed down. Even her breasts are small but perky.
She buys her groceries at the health food shop on the corner of Main Street.
Buys chap stick that smells like honey.
Burns vanilla incense every night. She says it keeps her centered.
Two tattoos. One behind her neck; one that you could see when her strawberry blond waves are tied in a messy bun. And one that you could see on the inside of her wrist as she talks and moves, without hesitation.
She looks like she’s fine. Like she’s always fine.