“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” – Maya Angelou
I became quite enamored with a girl who had gorgeous ginger hair- it was almost unreal. And she loved to Irish jig her heart away- this caught the attention of mine. She taught me what beauty looked like from a softly spoken voice. She lived her life along side me for almost four years but we never crossed paths until the time to depart dawned on us. She was fairy-like, ushering her pixie dust to alter everything she touched for the better. When she touched my soul it awoke from an eternal winter of impulsive foolishness. I think a part of me hurt her deeply but she was stationary, she was calm. She was a strong and charming wood and I, an ignited match with kinetic energy that could rue a forest in its entirety. When our forces came together a fire arose but she didn’t burn. Rather, I burned myself out. I tried to destroy what I couldn’t understand, I avoided my destructive nature and traded my love (what little of it I was made of) for wrath. She was still. She engulfed my conniption and housed all the damage, like shipwrecks underneath a calm sea. A short lived fairytale of respected delegates congregating in the corner house of misfits. Other people came and went but I always stayed near and she….so dear…..to my heart.