She was not kind, but she was high tide coming in, careless, filling everything with herself, sweet and foaming and temporary.
She was no angel, she dropped acid, not blessings,
And yet she always had her acolytes.
She was graced, singular, and so beautiful.
She was profane, predictable, and utterly ordinary.
She was just Sarah,
And between empty innocence and the weary later,
I loved her with all I had.