Posts Tagged ‘brave’

And thou shalt in thy daughter see…

Article05 She discovered The Alchemist on her own and took from it her favorite philosophy; “When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to help that person to realize his dream.” I ignore her but she does not stop loving, I become impatient and she keeps giving.  When I am frustrated with her distractions, she charges ahead anyway and wrestles her dreams into submission. She’s braver than I will ever be, more courageous in her deepest fears and a loyal and true friend of whom there will never be an equal. She’s amazed to see herself grow; I’m amazed it has happened so fast. Her laptop is aggravatingly slow and she dismisses the inconvenience as a chance for her to learn patience. She questions the insecurities of her friends, marveling they have such qualities – while believing she lacks their talent, their looks, their grace, ability, poise. In fact she has all of these wrapped in her heart, her brave and valiant heart that cries when touched by words, sings when lifted high and can remain defiant in the face of the most obstinate opposition.

I thought her an air head. The one who would not be still to read for if the book had no pictures, words could not entertain – an attention span that would quickly flit from subject to statement to question and answer. I viewed this distracted spontaneity as a lack of something; a lack of will, determination, persistence. But there has never been a simple piano ditty, that when once demonstrated, has been played as repeatedly, nor the lyrics to a popular song – used only in the construction of the chords on her guitar (for it is her guitar, it was never really mine) sung over and over and over again. I can’t understand the words; she knows them and their author. I can’t remember her many extracurricular activities, neither does she, but it doesn’t bother or cause her any grief. She laughs when caught in the middle of an event’s arrangements and realizes she knows where she is supposed to be but doesn’t have a clue on how to get there. A butterfly, she lights only briefly in the moments required to suck all the sweetness there is, all the satisfaction to be gained and then she flutters off.

She’ll move she said, to Italy – maybe not tomorrow, but perhaps someday. Was it me who showed her how to dream, can I be the one to take the credit? Or am I just the lucky one, who stands on the sidelines of her show, watching her sputter on the stage of life, trying on the different costumes, launching forward in her greatest role, singing at the top of her lungs

Words Past