She moves in waves, like the ocean during the rising tide: volatile, moving all that try to touch her. Her convictions as strong as the storms that arise in the murky waters, clear of her intentions but blurred in the revealing of herself. Enigmatic yet transparent; a paradox all within itself. There are times that those who see her glimpse into her true being, as the sun shines on her waters, allowing those who venture forward to see all of what she holds and what she shall hold in life. Though she denies all parts of herself she cannot see or understand, she fears her own being, scared of her own incomprehensibility. Her laughter is as boisterous as the seagulls that pass by the shore, searching for the remnants of what she has thrown out of her being; her sadness as cold and devoid as the rain falling upon the abundance of water already existing, no escape from the sorrow for days. Those who have learned to love her have accepted all of who she was, is, and will ever be.
— s.f.; crisp leaves and empty trees; 31.10.2015