And she sits on the bus gazing out of rain tinted windows; looking out through dreaming eyes. She’s bearing the world on her shoulders, and yet she smiles. No one knows who she is…but I do.

 

She is the strong scent of sweet apple cinnamon and the autumn leaves bursting red, yellow, and green.

She is the soft touch of fresh fallen snow and the vicious bite of the winter’s bitter cold.

She is the sun kissed tan of the sweet summer glow and the burning ache of the fresh sun burn.

She is spring…

Red roses and tiger lilies; bright sunflowers and holly berries.

 

She is beauty.

 

But she is also ugly.

She is the mole on your back that you don’t want, the pimple on your face that you cover with make-up.

She is the pleading of a child and the selfishness of its sibling.

She is the tears of the mother and the hate of the father.

She is the depression in the teenager and the rope of the noose.

She is the angry athlete with an F on his paper and malicious teacher telling him to “do better.”

 

But she is still beauty.

She is still love.

She is still lust; she is still the soft, lingering kiss of an unhealthy relationship.

She is hope.

She is pessimism; she is the voice that says “yes you can” and the one that says “maybe you can’t.”

She is neutrality. 

She is justice; she is the judge that says he’s guilty and the jury that says maybe he isn’t.

She is tranquility.

She is change; she is the peaceful protest of a violent revolution. The graves of a billion of slaves and the man that said, “We have a dream!!”

 

She is human.

 

And as she sits on the bus gazing out through the rain tinted windows, smiling to a demanding world begging her to be different; I realize there is one thing that she will never be:

 

Perfect.