Normalcy

You look at her, and what you see is a girl. A human being without frills or fluff or anything extra. Freckles are splayed across her face, an endless game of connect the dot. You can envision her little brother penning it on her arm in church, dot to dot to dot to endless dot. Countless potential pathways, kissed onto her skin by the sun. You see her hair. It is not long. It is not short. It hangs until it stops, that is all. It has no color, in that it has every color. It cannot be classified as red or brown or blonde, or even something in between. It just is. It is her hair, and that does not define her.

            Her eyes. Another pathway, yet this one leads to the depth of her existence. Fluid and real, dancing with an eternal and unblinking honesty. They speak more than she ever does, for they cannot be ignored.  You catch yourself staring, just a bit, and look away hurriedly, embarrassed to have seen something so personal. You promptly leave, join your friends and your life and your routine, and forget about the girl who is nothing else. Just a normal girl.

            As you walked away, another path was penned, and another brief but meaningful journey was made to the confines of her soul. Your image was driven by the lanes of fulfillment or friendship. It sped past the less traveled road of confidence and swerved around the path of contentment. The passage you indented is one that has been ventured time and time again in the soul of this girl. Disappointment is now deeper, loneliness accentuated. Subconsciously, your views became more aligned in her vision of herself. She’s just a normal girl.