Me.

She has an old soul for such a young face…At least that’s what they tell her.

She exudes a sense of complexity as if life’s stories are incidentally sown into the layers of the long dark hair that grazes over the middle of her back. The word raw is what comes to mind.

At a first glance she is almost ordinary. Yet, a longer look would reveal much depth beyond those weary deep brown eyes she bears. With a careful turn of the head, her eyes glisten as a few golden flecks meticulously catch the sun. At least that’s what they tell her.

She stands tall with a slender frame bound by the curves she inherited from her mother. The memory of a thinner bonier self reminds her she is thankful for the edges that now outline her girlish figure.

She walks with a confidence that is neither arrogant nor conceded. It’s a sense of acceptance and awareness that seems to linger in the air around her.

Those same deep brown eyes often remain hidden behind the bold square frames that offer her the gift of sight. Still, she prefers to wear contacts as she compares the glass in front of her face to a barrier meant to impede her from interacting with the outer world.

She remains unseen by more than half of the people within a room. Yet, a few are observed to gaze in her direction with a slight glow of curiosity in their eyes. At least that’s what they tell her.

She sits in the smallest corner of the room. As if she is hoping to conceal a part of herself. Yet, her small insecurity seems misplaced as it is evident she feeds off of connection with others.

She speaks her words almost as if they were deliberately plucked off a page of a well written book. She works hard to present her intentions well. Yet, it seems as if it would be difficult to miscalculate such a kind natured heart.

She occasionally abandons this well-spoken persona, altogether, in effort to disburse her energy only when needed. She keeps her listeners engaged as these moments of abandonment offer a true glimpse of the passions that guide her. Her soul as genuine as it is exposed, which becomes obvious to those whom truly listen.

Yet, there is something child-like about her.

Perhaps it is that she is self-conscious about her laugh as if it almost seems to come at a surprise to her how freely it travels from one medium to the next?

Perhaps it is the way that her questions appear to almost erupt from her body in effort to satisfy the urge of her own curiosity?

Perhaps it’s the way she seems to believe in others despite the occasional momentary flicker of past disappointment that paints her face.

Ahhh! I see it now… it’s her love.

It’s almost as if the pores of her skin radiate the very essence of love into the air. Regardless of her attempts to conceal it for the consequence of its vulnerability, she can’t escape its inevitable spell. Some are known to love widely while others are meant to love deeply. Her body submits its defenses to both.

I now understand her depth and her pain in a new light. For love often sets the foundation for one’s greatest sense of joy along with the deepest burn of sorrow. Burning a candle at both ends now has a new meaning.