the good girl

she has a heart of gold.  it shines through her, an emblazoned message of warmth, glimmering hope and pure, honeyed sweetness.  she might as well have a neon sign ("there's a good girl") pointing at the exact spot where all of her precious love can be accessed - which can be problematic... especially since her heart is said to be unbreakable,  and this seems to entice some to test it.  the good girl feels uncomfortable carrying her heart, something of such apparent value and solidity, in the brittle chamber of her chest, but everyone assures her: it's in the right place.

the girl next door

she could be anybody.  she wears jeans and a ponytail and the look of a screen door: like she might just let you in, but you're not exactly welcome.  she has a smile that is hardly secretive, but you think that she has secrets.  you can hear the muffled melody of her days through the walls and you imagine you would miss it, you would miss her if she was gone.  it never occurs to you to ask what her name is.  you're not even sure you would recognise her should you ever meet in a non-mundane setting.  she has never asked you for your name either.  she has a smile that does not borrow anything.  she wears jeans and a t-shirt and the look of backyards and supermarkets: an offer of comfort that could disappoint in future.  still, you're convinced, it's nice to know she's there.