She has light brown hair that falls down to her waist in a straight, thick waterfall. In the midst of this waterfall, there's a long candy - floss pink strip, bringing a girly touch to her rough outlines. She wears her special pink vest top and a denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up, and the three bottom buttons done up. Only three. Then she wears her deep blue jeggins with the butterfly embroidery she stitched herself, skin tight, with her worn red sneakers, the dirty laces drooping either side of her feet. If you brush away her curtain of hair, you reveal her huge green eyes, the colour of glittering emeralds, the short, snub nose sprinkled with freckles, the full red lip coated with slippery lip balm. She likes to sit in Her Tree. Everyone calls it Her Tree. She sits at the top branch, long before anyone else is awake, reading her books, a new one every day, swinging her legs, a smile still on her face. The children play miles beneath her feet, and she peers at them through the leaves, the sunlight dappling her forehead and casting green shadows on her body. I am the one who sits and watches her. I would sit for days and days, watching her breathe, turn the page of her book with her delicate fingers, examine her bitten nails smothered with glittery nail varnish. She slips down the tree, as light as a feather, only when the sky grows dark, and she wanders back to her house that no one knows the address of.

Her favourite colour is purple. Everyone can see the way she stops to look at the purple blossoms on a tree, the way she fingers her purple gel pens at school, and inks purple smiley faces all the way up her arm. Everyone tries to look purple when they're around her, try to become that deep and meaningful person she so needs in her life. I am not the only one who sits and watches her in the tree. She has a whole troupe of followers, but she ignores all of them. Except me. I am her purple. I am the string that holds her lilac beads round her neck, I am her bottle of hair dye, refreshing her pink strip every day. I am her everything. And she is mine.

This is written in the perspective of a boy!