I can’t tell you when I first saw her. I can’t tell you where our paths crossed. All I know is I’ve gradually become aware of her presence. She begs to be acknowledged. She silently, but persistently, pleads for me to listen to her story; to tell her story.
If you saw her on the street you might not notice her; at least not at first. She’s medium height, medium build, average weight (whatever that means). Her feature’s are delicate and pretty, but she’s not the type of pretty you would describe as stunning. Her long hair is brown. Just brown. Not quite deep chocolate but not quite mousey either. Generally she keeps it pulled to the side in a loose braid hanging over her shoulder. Her mouth, like the rest of her face, is small and delicate.
If this was all you saw as you passed on the street you probably wouldn’t notice her. You definitely wouldn’t remember her. But if, by chance, you glanced at her just as she glanced at you… If you met the eyes of this ordinary stranger, your perception of her would almost certainly change. Because those eyes! Those eyes that are the most vivid and lively of greens. Those eyes that seem to enchant with a single gaze. They shine with purpose, and passion, and life and laughter. They are young and mischievous, and open and daring. They’ll beg you to speak; to ask the question; to engage…
She looked at me the other day, and smiled a little smile. She knew I wouldn’t turn away. She knew I couldn’t turn away. I need to know her story. I have to know her name. You see, I’ve noticed her lurking. I’ve heard her whispering. She’s there on the edges when I’m working, dreaming, sleeping, eating.
How is this possible? How can this be?
She is a character developing. She’s in my head. She is not “real”… You can’t pass her on the sidewalk. You can’t see her in the shop. But I can. And I’ve decided to stop and ask her name. And maybe, when I’ve learned her story and the reason for the shine in her eyes, I’ll introduce her to you.
Maybe, just maybe…