An acquired taste

She's the kind of girl who hangs dream catchers above her bed, who eats pomegranates and reads old history books for fun. She's the kind of girl who sleeps in old men's dress shirts, and wears her earrings to bed. She's the kind of girl who takes pictures of her hands with disposable cameras and wallpapers her bedroom with pretty roses. She's the kind of girl who dances down the street and catches sideways stares of the blank faced pedestrians who pass, but always smiles back. She's the girl with the windows down, and the music up, a breath of life blowing in her hair. She's the girl who's tongue tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, and who smells a bit like a summer in Paris. She's the kind of girl who catches the first snowflake in the palm of her bare hands and watches it melt into her pale skin, before anyone else notices the sky is falling. She's the kind of girl who's laughter echoes in your fondest memories. She's the kind of girl who's always sketching eyes and mouths of the characters in her dreams, and drawing on the back of her bar tab. She's the kind of girl who doesn't know any other way but to wear her heart on her sleeve. She's the kind of girl who looks you right in the eyes, and almost through you when you speak to her.