The Magic

There once was a girl who loved to explore. She was fearless and she was hungry. Hungry for life in a way that could not be contained. The girl grew, and as she grew, she grew in confidence. She grew in health. She thrived on curiosity.

As she approached the world it welcomed her with open arms. She felt that perhaps all one needed was to be open to life in order for life to rush upon you like wind over an icy mountain. She could not understand the stagnation and rot routed deep within those around her. Why be routed like an old oak tree? So firmly planyed in the soil that even a small breeze seemed a bit inconvenient. Staring at the world surrounding them, physically unable to take any action. Why not embrace the breeze? Why not chase after the wind to feel its cool kisses upon your cheeks - so icy at times your eyes water with the thrill of nature?

All she wanted was to know life in the most meaningful way. To be cared for, and to care, with no explanation or definition. She sought the fine line of balance between reckless of soul and gentle of heart.

Ah - the balance. Approaching the world with fearless caution can prove to be dangerous. The power of the draw, that magnetic charisma, had the power to make others feel special and loves and safe and brilliant in a unique sort of way. Not many are able to focus that type of power externally. This girl was so fueled by overwhelming intelligence and confidence and curiosity that anyone in her presence would find their own unique and positive traits magnified tenfold. Looks are one thing: easily forgettable without substance. What she had was the power to harness the beauty around her and within others - a far more powerful tool

The balance. The delicate balance. She came to learn it means walking the line where hearts find hurt. When you open yourself to the world it climbs over the tall walls like vines in a pristine field. The soul gets damaged. Becomes hard.

As she navigated the world around her she became used to straddling the thin line of her soul. She fared the world well. In fact she fared the world more than well. People were so pliable. Bendable like warped wood to her magic. And so into the world she rushed bending, twisting, willing the world to her way. Momentum. Restlessness. Desire. Hunger. Oblivion.

Then one day a muse man came into her world. He was unbendable, as if he took stock of her magic and wholeheartedly rejected its power. He was not bendable, not pliable, not the rotting oak tree. He was the breeze. Constant and consistent in its cool embrace.