She looks familiar. Damn. Where had I seen her before? She reminds me of the angel who pulled me from the wreck, who cradled me in her bosom and carried me out of that convoluted, fiery metal bastille. The familiarity is in her eyes. Her eyes, so full of wonder, are like two bubbles that are about to pop. Perhaps it's the friendliness she exudes. She carries herself as though she knows the entire world is open to her, but is too carefree to pay any mind.
She could be one of these people who look like someone else to each person they meet. She could just be a ghost, an apparition made flesh, reaching out from the fog. She's coming towards me.
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