She could have been anyone.
Blonde hair, a plain, pale face; her only distinctive feature was her eyes. She was pretty in the same way as any other girl -- she was maybe a little sadder, a little more cautious, but it the end, just a young girl.
If she had been anyone else, she could have had dreams. She could have had a first love. She might have even loved herself.
It wouldn't be too hard to imagine her, sitting outside a junior high school, the cement steps digging slightly into her thighs and a notebook splayed over her lap. She might have a barette in her hair, or a locket around her neck. Maybe a handsome boy from the year ahead would come up and ask her to go to the movies. Maybe she'd be flattered, or nervous. Maybe her heart would go thump-thump.
Oh, yes. That would be the difference, wouldn't it?
She might have had a heart.
And she can draw all these beautiful things, things that would seem bland and mundane to anyone else, and enjoy pretending. That's her talking with a group of friends. Her flirting with a boy. Her being hugged by her parents. She can draw all of that, but she can't make it real. (she never feels any emotion attatched to it, just empty)
She can draw a lot of things.
But she can't draw herself a heart.