She sat in a high-back blue chair, an opened book in her lap, one leg pulled up under the other, her lower lip pushed out in thought. It appeared as through she was looking out the window beyond anything she could see.

No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
She sat in a high-back blue chair, an opened book in her lap, one leg pulled up under the other, her lower lip pushed out in thought. It appeared as through she was looking out the window beyond anything she could see.