She was a girl of infinite potential. with nowhere to go but home.
Home. An undefined inexplicable yearning for a place that could only exist in the soul.
A woman who's life was the down,down,down, up, down, up, down, up, strumming of D chords on the guitar. with light pink A minors and heavy green E's.
She was a plucker of never ending melonchaly notes. a hummer of things that sounded like sadness.
But most of all. she was a keeper of words. a shaper of pensamientos. and a lover of knowledge.
A woman who thought. Perhaps.
Maybe.
Home was a combination of stone houses and sparking rails.