Isabella

She’s a special one. Her eyes, gold-green, sparkle when she laughs- an echo of the warm heart and clever mind she secrets beneath her glamour. Her tongue speaks as a poets, weaving beauty all around. An architect, she sees the world not just as it is, but as it could be built by loving hands. Even on the days she’s down, lost in gloomful reverie, she finds a way, with but her presence, to comfort even the most turbulent and wayward hearts. Few remain un-mesmerized by the brilliance of her soul. Fewer still resist falling for the charm of her kindess.
Music is her language, alone it speaks to her. The weathered page, her shelter, it’s words warm her like the hearth. She reads and listens, forlorn in her spirits, for having seen the wonders of fantasy compared to the sorrows of real life, only in dreams does her joy show its face.

To know and to feel is her question, and it’s answer has yet to be found. Yet she lives as she lives as all people live, with all of her life in her eyes. She loves only that which is real, let no falsehood cross her gaze, but make no mistake, her eyes see farther than the stone and soil at her feet. She is, if no words are left, a wildflower drifting in the wayward wind.

“Wow, that Isabella sure is special”
“Yeah, super artsy and smart too”
“Wish there were more like her”

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