I wonder what it is like to be "that woman."
The woman who walks in the room and demands everyone’s attention. The woman with the dark eyes, full of mystery and magic that draw in both men and women, and makes them yearn to know the secrets hidden within. The woman with the cascading raven hair that evokes ballads from minstrels and sonnets from poets. The woman who leaves a nearly physical spirit behind with anyone who has ever been fortunate enough to touch her. The woman whose vision lingers in dreams and whose voice echoes softly amidst whispers. The woman with fingers tender enough to caress the most delicate of mists and nails hard enough to pierce the harshest of stones. The woman whose influence is remembered when her existence has long faded. The woman men rally to defend though she possesses her own strength for battle. The woman who runs drenched amidst a thunderstorm to challenge the lightning with her fists. The woman whose passion is not seen with eyes but perceived by souls. The woman whose laughter can illuminate the darkest of days if only in a memory. The woman who can carry the heaviest and saddest of hearts upon her shoulders without a single faltering step. The woman who lingers on the edge of darkness while clinging to the shadows of moonlight. The woman who cherishes the girl of her past while knowing that she is intertwined with the goddess of her future. That woman within and without me.
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AuthorMy words are like my brush strokes, I'm never quite sure where they'll flow to and when they'll stop. Categories
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May 2013
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