you & she (part 1)

Her soul is not a color, but a riotous scene from Hamlet, steeped with tragedy and the sound of bliss.  She leaves the room like a gong, echoing important words and soft compliments, touching things with artistic awe.  She walks in a common rhythm, clinching her feet firm to every inch she covers.  She has reasons behind every lyric and song, but she won’t tell you unless you ask, with that foreign smirk she settles above a lesser-known layer of wonder.  She’s always wondering. 

 She sees people with their rawness and rareness, like fragile memorabilia, placed in prominent places along her brainstem.  She’s a lover of the artistic world, of its manic creations and daunting territories, of all things which can only be explained by the words of their creators.  She’ll talk you into politics and out of Provo.  She’ll make the world larger than your textbook-tight vision, and wear you like fine jewels, and play with your mind until everything is a flower-infused disarray of once-pragmatic thoughts.  She will dye your vision a shade of gold, and claim you as a piece of her ascending story.  She will turn you into herself, a walking word book banking grand ideas and losing things in her pockets and wowing for hours over the smaller joys.  She will turn your children into visionaries, lovers of good light, speakers of clear words, book thieves, best friends.  She will turn you into a Something and your life into a lyric.  She will write you into infinity and transcend you past your headstone.  She will wear you as her favorite sweater, her closest ally; but she will treat you like a lover and smash your silence.  

She will become your greatest friend.  

And if she, in all her nervy, flowering perfection between the amorous strands of hair, and the syntax of her sincerity, and the muting of her struggles to sleep on yours, allows you the privilege as her best friend, you must be more than an opinion and a set of eyes.

You must be something.