Who is MJ?
She is the wind that is only caught in the sails of a sailboat skimming through the ocean. She is the curling, yellowed parchment read by candlelight, the fire in your blood, the nylon strings of an acoustic guitar, the keeper of all the lost ballpoint pens in the world. She is lost in her own mind, her fantasies, her dreams. She is the ink of a new tattoo, the blood drawn by a fresh piercing. An artist, an explorer, an anarchist. She is the girl who traipses through the woods searching for fairy kingdoms, the girl who plays in the mud with the people she loves the most, the girl you'll find neck deep in the water screaming about how cold it is, but not even considering getting out. She is the glitter in an anime girl's eyes, the steady beat of a heart, the feeling of warm sand between toes with freshly painted purple toenails, the explosion of fireworks in the night sky, the smell of tea, and the silence of a library. She is the brightness of a highlighter, the flash of motion at the edge of your vision, the melting popsicles on a summer day. She is the girl who'll spend hours outside watching the clouds, the sunset, and, eventually, the stars. Making wishes on stars, eyelashes, alarm clocks, tunnels, and fountains. Rainy days at the movie theatre, riding horses through fields, playing with foals, dancing slow to fast songs and fast to slow songs, and falling in love with the wind. She lights candles under the full moon for rememberance and fantasies come true, candle sunder the new moon for beginnings and love lost, and candles under the sun for newfound love and acceptance. She is the bright blue freedom you wish for as you're trapped in a dull grey classroom. She cannot be trapped or put in a simple box under a simple label. She is fresh picked blackberries, sugared strawberries, and whipped cream. Libraries, beaches, barns, Microsoft office buildings, coffee shops, shops that smell of magick, fields of daisies and butterflies . . . all are her playground. She's hot chocolate on a sunny day, she's flashing lights and loud techno, she's romance, she's thunderstorms and joy, she's a photograph that reminds you of better days, she's going up and she's coming down, and she's poetry in a coffee shop.She's the smell of incense, she's tragedy, comedy, and begging for more. She's who she was, is, and will be all at once. Enjoy, handle with care, be inspired, be loved, enjoy her life, enjoy your own, and don't ever mind spending every day out on a corner in the pouring rain.
Ten points if you got that reference at the end.