Then

She met a boy, a man, a boy. This person was not so much her type (stereotyping of course). This person had different things about him. This person made her think of things again. Their second meeting brought butterflies in her heart.
This boy, man, boy, did the butterflies come because she could sense he would worship her? That he was that type (stereotypically)? That he knew, just knew, that she was as good as it got? That she had odd habits but would put up with them?

Thought

She is used to the utmost devotion. She is used to being put on a pedestal. Declared a muse, she is sculpted, painted, written about in poems and in books, composed about, painted on ... She is pure. She is perfect for them. She is offered startled by their intensity and doesn't know where to put it.
But this, this indifference, this can take her or leave her of this part of her life, this is confusing. Is she not the same person as before? Has she changed so much in those few years?

Jump

Once there was a boy who smelled so sweetly. Nothing smelled as good as him. She would wallow in his t-shirts, after begging him to wear them for two days just so that much of his scent would permeate that much more. She would revel in his sports equipment. She would crawl up his body drinking it in from every pore. She loved him for it.

U

It was dark, dark, dark. Then it wasn't anymore. It was surprisingly so. She thought it would happen gradually, slowly, day by day. But no. One day it was light where the day before it had been dark. So dark.