Small fingers traced the faded railing along the highway’s edge as she walked, arm extended. She stepped lightly, quietly, without a trace of ever having passed through. To those rushing by she was an enigma, a mystery in the body of a teenage girl. 

The air was crisp, its chilling sword stabbing at her lungs with each new breath. Still, she breathed deeply, welcoming the frigid cold, smiling at the sight of the vapor as it left her mouth. Around her, a soft yellow had begun to litter the sky’s edge, signaling the break of a new day. The palette of warm colors danced across her cheeks, painting her face all shades of red and orange. Tucked in her hand was the handle to a case, its former purpose abandoned, the guitar strapped instead to her back. Alternatively, the worn wooden exterior had become home to an array of clothing, rarely washed. Its surface was messy, cluttered with stickers and notes, trapped down by a multitude of colorful tapes. 

She herself was an unkempt whirlwind of color and light. Her newly dyed hair, an orange fit to rival those of the sunrise, stuck out at odd angles, an untidy halo framing her face. Paired with the warm glow of her cheeks, she appeared almost like an angel searching for a ride back to the heavens from which she descended. Beneath the masses of hair, wild eyes flashed like knives in the dark, sharp and curious, challenging you to look deeper. To even look at all. 

Beneath it all, the layers of denim and cloth, were flashes of ink. Some were permanent. Some less so. Stars on her knee; pen. Bird on her wrist; not. 

She walked slowly, as though the day could wait. As though the day would wait. It was a careful stride, one foot in front of the other. Not the march of a girl built with chaos in her bones, but of a woman created with the heavy burden of knowledge on her heart. Still, if her soul was an object, it would be the sun, bright and shining and never quite within the reach of man. 

She shifted the case, removing her hand from the railing to bear the weight, sticking out her newly freed thumb. It was not long before someone pulled over. It never was. People wondered too much to simply leave her be. And like that, she was gone, a flower swept up by the wind, towards a greater destination. Lost to the eye of the casual observer, leaving not even a footprint in her wake.