who is she?

Who is she, the one they see? Bold, fearless, carefree? Likely independent, unique, hard to define. She is quiet at times, thinking, watching. Waiting for her moment to shine. A storyteller, the center of attention. Definitely funny, always ready to laugh.

But also dark. That humor, just on the other side of light. A deep thinker—maybe. At times, with a Blue Moon (or 3), the serious one. Conversationalist, asker of questions. Honest. Brutally, at times. She is passionate, opinionated, sometimes harsh.

But she is a lover. Affectionate when in close company, and always the nurturer. Great with kids, yet unsure about motherhood. A child at heart, curious, always ready to learn. A reader—lover of books—shelves lined at her messy home. Organized chaos she'd have you believe. And an artist, a newfound love both for herself and in another.

Theirs is a fierce kind of love, the one so rarely found. One of novels and old films. Wild and messy and strong. She found him at the only right time. Once broken and shattered, combing the wreckage, she had completed reconstruction. Her fighter's heart had won, building up from the rubble of her grief, and forged on.

An independent spirit needing no guide, only a companion. A fellow traveler prepared for the ride. Her wings have spread wider, his breath blowing her higher in flight. From the ground, they cannot see from where the wind comes.

And so it will be their secret. This peace, this joy, in knowing the other. Her grief-filled tears—their salty trails like a snail's path to his heart. She will grow, change. Her art will blossom, alongside their dreams. She will shine. And the glow will be hers alone to see.

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