I met a strange girl once.
Every time she laughed, her eyes lit up with a passion of the kind I had only read about in poetry books. Her own jokes made her laugh the hardest - her sense of humor as coruscating as her favorite wine. And my run-of-the-mill humor never stood a chance in front of what she possessed, but I guess I have my moments.
A free spirit with the wanderlust of a nomad, she reminds me time and again of how important it is to just be. To breathe and take in wherever you are. But more importantly, she has taught me to eat well. With her, I have had food of the Gods, and also of the places that are meek holes in the wall.
When she starts talking, you listen. And when you listen, you can prepare yourself to always be amazed. She will pull you into all the things that excite her, and do so effortlessly - the bright city lights, the sea, the food, the ideas, and yet you wouldn't even be scratching the surface.
For some reason I cannot fathom, I see her. Through the battle scars, the sleepless nights, the disagreements, I see all of her. And the expanse and depth of her existence fill up my heart.
If I had kept count, the world has failed her so many times now, that I would have lost it a long time ago. I questioned and fought and despised it, at first. The world was sucking the life out of her, and I did not know what to do. Until I stopped. Because I am just as much of a part of everything that has made her soul ache with abysmal pain. And for that, I do not know how to forgive myself.
She deserves all the happiness in the world, and with it, all the success. Success she is not able to see right now, because her demons put a blindfold on her eyes. And in doing so, they robbed her. Of her own pride, her own fortitude, her own will to fight. They left her on the asphalt, and when she tried to get back up, they kicked her in the stomach. Hard.
But what the world and her demons don't know is this. She will rise again - to the heights that she was built for. Her little fingers twitch with kindness, and the pain that haunted her like a ghost that latches onto you, is almost unrecognizable from her laugh. It still echoes today in my bones every time I hear it. It still lingers in my bloodstream. It is addicting, and I never want to stop hearing it.
Her strength seems to have retreated to a deep, dark corner underneath her skin. But it still exists, smoldering there like a freshly kindled fire. One day, she will find it. And I don't care what part I play - the map, the stone she steps on, the roof over head or the river she drinks water from - but one day, I will help get her there.
Because she deserves better from this world. And we are going to take it from its hands if we have to.
