people call her ophilia,
because that's her name.
they like to say her hair is golden
or honey colored
but she knows just as well
.it's the equivalent of rust.
she steps into rooms
quietly acknowledging the loudness inside of her.
there is no hesitation when it comes to her spirit.
she refuses to be afraid of the roar she inheretly posses,
she gave up apologizing for it years ago.
Alone- she revels in solitude. devouring blank pages, canvases, sound waves.
Together- she adores soaking up those around her.
Not allowing them to sink in- but soak.