Fact, Fiction, and Everything in Between

There is no way to describe her since she wasn't created yet when all things were named. She is not a fish, nor a bird; she's more than a girl, she's less than divine. She lives without definitions, parameters, descriptors, and other such nonsense. She is the person that I keep wanting to be. More than wanting. Lusting to be. I want to be the "she" admired from afar. The secret of far-away admiration is that people never get close enough to you to hurt you. They smile and wink at you from a distance, much like stars. Close enough and all you feel is their searing heat on your thin skin, already burning. If I were this "she" I would dress myself in costume, every day. I would smile vaguely at everyone that passed, keeping my eyelids at half-mast. People would have debates: "Her eyes are blueish-brown." "No, I swear. They are sort of green with goldish glints." They would talk forever and a day about costume and colors of eyes and never be able to know anything else.