Aida Zabidi
She’s a dreamer. 

Sometimes she seems to fade away from the tapestry of my mind, and I wonder if I’ve imagined her at all. 

She’s happiest in the shadows, even though she almost glows when she is basking in the light, surrounded by others, with an energy that seems to radiate throughout the room. She lacks the same radiance when she’s on her own, but I imagine it must still be there inwardly. Perhaps too much radiance will burn her out. 

I often wonder what makes her the way she is, almost ethereal, like someone not of this world. I wonder how she makes my life seem so dazzling when she smiles at me, and yet the moment she leaves I can barely remember the details of her face. 

“Sometimes I feel like something out there is calling me,” she says, with her face looking outwardly, almost as if she is looking for something that is beyond me. I get chills down my spine whenever she says that, although I’m not entirely sure why I do. 

She’s a dreamer, but perhaps the Dreams are calling her home.
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