The sky is actually red. The only reason why it turns blue is to reflect our mood. The sun decides when to rise and when to set, but when it does make up its mind, the world is breathtakingly beautiful.
Her face is round, meeting at the most subtle point of her chin, as if the marble would roll down it’s entire life, only slowing at the end appropriately so. The light that reflects off of this marble glitters all its life and is proud of itself. She sees the marble’s colors and is proud of herself as well.
Her eyes. Look at them. They are placeholders for almonds. Roasted almonds, unsalted. God accidentally ate them and now she only has dark brown eyes. She doesn’t mind. And her nose is like a rabbit’s tail, soft and lucky. She has never had sinus’ or congestion. Her ears are pale, but quickly flushes a soft red when she thinks of unspeakable matters, like kissing Harrison and the fantasy continues.
Her name is Olive. She is sweet like one. If you were to ever find a sweet olive,
it is Olive.
