Her eyes full of possibility, washed over, like waves visiting sand locked shells, rolling briefly, and retreating to the vast, mysterious ocean where wonders lurk.
She is her heart; it beats in sync with love, glowing for the world, but shrouded by palms gently swaying against a palette of pink, purple and pale orange.
She is confused, unanchored; flowing, spiraling and drowning in one’s self, but still alive.
She neglects her soul; her glow emanates freely, illuminating the souls of others, but doesn’t return, and perhaps she will expire in time; a supernova.
She is her heart; burning with a jive untouchable, one merely translated via the space in between particles; she wants to be closer than close.
She is fearful; she screams in her dreams, alone, feeling the pain that’s buried in the world’s solitude. Burning with a romanticism that yearns for translation.
To be more than the waves and more than the glow and more than the words and the glances and the locking of eyes. To be more than this.
That’s all she is, for now: she is.
There is nothing more to it but that, a simple humility that keeps her safe, keeps her alone, keeps her free,
and keeps her in bondage.
Because she is human –
and that, she can not escape.