I watch her stick her tongue out in concentration. Her fingers were flying away on the keyboard. Suddenly she slammed her fist on the keys in a way of letting out frustration. I wonder what she had messed up. I'm sure nothing was wrong, she's the best writer I know. Her hair danced in the wind, as if it had a mind of its own. Every strand of it was a different shade of auburn. One orange, one brown, one black. The most unique colors i've ever seen. Oh and her smile, the smile that's always bright with everyone she meets. Even strangers. Her drive to make everyone happy is the strongest i've ever known. But lately I've seen her stare off into space. And her fingers down at her sides instead of on her keyboard. I've also seen her start covering her hair. The hair with a billion shades of auburn. Oh and her smile, the one that's fading more and more everyday. I wish she knew that she was the best writer I knew. Or I wish she knew her hair had the more unique colors i've ever seen. I wish she had the same drive to make herself happy like she did with everyone else.

This is a poem/story thing I wrote