E.H. Quotes

She has a bookshelf for a heart, and ink runs through her veins, she'll write you into her story with the typewriter in her brain. Her bookshelf's getting crowded. With all the stories that's she's penned, of all the people who flicked through her pages but closed the book before it ended. And there's one pushed to the very back, that sits collecting dust, with its title in her finest writing, 'The One's Who Lost My Trust'. There's books shes scared to open, and books she doesn't close. Stories of every person she's met stretched out in endless rows. Some people have only one sentence while others once held a main part, thousands of inky footprints that they've left across her heart. You might wonder why she does this, why write of people she once knew? But she hopes one day she'll mean enough for someone to write about her too.

She wove golden rays of sunshine,
Into a long and flowing dress,
That left the scent on everything she touched,
Of nature's sweet caress,
Everywhere the girl did go,
The flowers would all bloom,
And she could chase the lonely feeling,
Out of every room,
She could drive out all your sadness,
And cause a frozen heart to thaw,
She's paint the sky pink every morning,
But nobody ever saw,
No one thought to thank her,
For the warmth upon their skin,
Or for chasing all their demons,
From where the night-time's breath had been,
So she thought she wasn't needed,
She could leave and they'd not care,
But they'd taken her for granted,
Since her light was always there,
Because you never thank the ground,
Until you know how it feels to fall,
Or just how much you need the sun,
Until it doesn't rise at all.

What if I fall? "Oh, my dear, what if you fly?