it means woman of god

"River's strong you can't swim inside, we could string some lights up the hill beside it. Tonight the moon's so bright, you could drive with your headlights out. 'Cause a little bit of summer's what the whole year's all about."

[jacob-hill]

It is.

Oh really? You’ve got interesting tastes, then, but I have to say I - well, I agree with you. You’re different, but good company.

[glochoa]

Quite different taste I'd say. But lucky for you, I like that. I'm glad. I'm glad you think so.

[jacob-hill]

I’ve noticed - being different’s not always a bad thing.

That over the top? I bet you’ll have the best lights in the neighborhood. I like being on my own, too, both by choice and, well.. Not by choice. 

[glochoa]

I've been told it is quite apparent.

Most definitely. I like being in your presence, you're quite fascinating. 

[jacob-hill]

Have to be different, huh?

I guess that’s true. Do you mean overall or in the Winter? I prefer the Christmas lights, and walking about either by yourself or with one other person when everyone else prefers to be inside where it’s warm

[glochoa]

Frequently.

Overall. I love Christmas lights, I think when I live on my own I'll probably be like Martha from 'The Grinch'. I like that, I mean, as much I adore people and meeting random strangers I do enjoy being on my own a lot. I think you have to have a balance of both or else you'll go insane.

[jacob-hill]

Ahh - I was always told they reminded people of the sea.

I do, too, though I am prone to getting sick in the Winter. Well, you’re right; most of them go and visit their relatives in other states, but I would assume it’s because of the season, which is understandable. 

[glochoa]

The sea could work, too. But I'll stick with swimming pools.

Oh, I don't know, snow lasts on the ground well into February but it's none of my business in the end. You know what's better than crunchy snow? Late at night when the weather is nice and all the town's lights are on and everyone seems to be busy going about doing something. When it's warm outside it's like people never sleep. For an insomniac that's quite lovely. 

[jacob-hill]

Do they? Why is that?

It really is, and it does. I do like to watch it sometimes.

[glochoa]

The color.

I love winter, I love the snow. Well -- I don't think there's anything I particularly dislike, if we're being honest, especially not a season but a lot of the people around here do seem to dislike the snow. They either leave town or stay bundled up inside their homes all winter long.

[jacob-hill]

This is true - I can’t stand the heat, never have. Though I do like being able to hop in a swimming pool when I want.

It’s not just a memory.. It’s the thought of new life, how everything just comes back after the Winter time. It’s beautiful to see all the flowers bloom and birds and various other animals come out from hiding. It’s almost like.. Hope.

[glochoa]

Your eyes remind me of swimming pools.

Nature is pretty incredible with the way it so easily let's go during the winter time. It paves a path for that hope. 

[jacob-hill]

Oh no, not very practical at all, but - those all do sound nice, especially the snow mixed with ice. Summer is alright, but I like spring better.

[glochoa]

I think you can only fully appreciate summer if you've been in school for ten months. 

What Spring time memory are you most fond of?

[jacob-hill]

What other things?

[glochoa]

Like, snow when it gets mixed with ice on the ground and it makes a crunching noise every time you walk on it. Or the first days of summer...or really great people. I think I could live with just those things, romantically speaking of course, because it wouldn't be very practical to live with just snow and summer days and tomato soup. 

[shailenewoodleysource]

[jacob-hill]

So I assume it would be pretty bad if tomato soup didn’t exist, huh?

[glochoa]

That and a few other things, I suppose.

[jacob-hill]

I’ve been alright, for the most part. Nothing to report. And how have you been?

[glochoa]

That's wonderful to hear. Yeah, I've been doing okay. Everything's always fantastic when tomato soup exists.

[jacob-hill]

Hmph. Of course.

[glochoa]

Yes. How've you been?

[jacob-hill]

How can you say that so soon, though? You don’t know me well enough.

[glochoa]

Intuition?

[jacob-hill]

Right, of course. That makes sense.

[glochoa]

I wouldn't think you were crazy. I know too many people. 

[jacob-hill]

Then what was it that you meant?

[glochoa]

I meant that you think it's odd when people are obsessed with Christmas because you don't understand it. So, the "crazy" part of the quote doesn't apply to you, it applies to the people preoccupied with Christmas.

[glochoa]

You used to fly | Self Para.

The page blinked back at her, the soft noise her computer made whenever it had been turned on for more than it would like was just background noise. Dishes were clinking downstairs, her mother whistling along to the songs from her favorite radio station. Her brother was out..somewhere -- she knew where but her mind couldn't gather up the information anymore. And her dad? He, he was here. In his room. Yes, in his room.

Her knuckles were bruised, she saw that as she typed away on her computer but when had that happened? Was it just now? Was it when she'd first heard about all of this? She didn't know. It didn't much matter, there was a stain on the wall now. Her heart felt like it was going to dig it's way out of her chest and perhaps that would have been for the best. Angry hands scratched at her collar bone, her lungs, making everything seem heavier than it was. Her soul was heavy with knowledge but not the sort that Gaby adored. People had always told her that she wore her heart on her sleeve too much, that she asked too many questions. Gaby wasn't the poster child for anything ever. She'd never intended to be.

In literature and poetry, a shade can be taken to mean the spirit or ghost of a dead person, residing in the underworld...Only select individuals are exempt from the fate of dwelling in shadow after death, ascending to the divine sphere.

Every fiber of her being was rejecting the thought. A shade? What a stupid idea, what a joke. Gaby loved learning things but there were still certain aspects of life that she wasn't comfortable with, things that she didn't believe in. Mythology was a large part of that. The story of how people were supposed to find their other half? Nothing more than stories. Zeus and Poseidon? Fictional. There had to be another answer to all of this was what the young girl repeated to herself through pursed lips. But Gaby knew, deep inside of her she knew there was no other explanation. 

She had been hunting down the answer to this question her heart continued to ask for so long that had a stranger in the street told her this was the answer, she would have known. It was not something people particularly had to explain to you, you just knew. In her heart of hearts she'd always known.

With legs that could barely afford to stand up from her desk, Gaby made her way toward the window that had seen such dreadful sights. She remembered the first one like it was yesterday though it had been years. A bird. It had been a bird. A magpie. Her father said it was a magpie. The strength that held her together every single day of her life was becoming loose with every sigh that escaped her. Gabrielle had gone to the window, had closed it and sat there waiting for something to happen. Something that she knew was going to happen, and then it came. The slam, the blood. That had been the start of it all but not the worst.

The worst was Mr. Thomas. He had been her first grade teacher, the one who taught Gaby how to read and that coloring outside the lines was what she should do. He often visited their family throughout the holidays, having grown fond of the four. They would talk about their days and Andy could often convince him to go walking around town with them. Andy and Gaby. Always moving, always running. Had she ever been running from anything? No, no she hadn't. Gaby clutched the edge of her bed frame, that's where he had stood, by that window. One cold Spring night when she left it open and the wind was too much for her to control, Mr. Thomas had walked in wearing his fancy shoes. Gaby had felt terrified but all he did was stare. He looked long and hard at her for what seemed like ages before nodding his head and leaving, just like that. The following morning the young girl found her mother crying into her hands on the living room couch. Mr. Thomas had died the previous afternoon.

Gaby ran that day. She ran as far and as fast as her legs could carry her. She knew then. Somehow, she'd always known. But when she had told Andy he said it was coincidence, not to blame herself. Gaby had listened because a more selfish side of her continued to deny it. Continued to reject the fact that sometimes when she saw people on the street something drew her to them. It wasn't a physical attraction, it wasn't even her social abilities, there was something else. A young her had never been able to explain it -- the pull, the magnitude of it all.

As the room grew smaller, breathing became harder. Gaby opened the window completely, her hands trembling the whole way through. She placed both feet on the window seat before taking the leap. The jump she had made so often. To sneak out with boys that made her promises of the sun and stars when she was in high school, to go eat junk food at four in the morning with Andy later on. It was a quarter past six in the afternoon, she could have walked out her front door had she wanted to. But human interaction was a thing she could not afford at the present moment.

Feet kicked against the dirt, leaving nothing but dust behind. Gaby ran, the girl who used to fly, ran for dear life. For all the dear lives she'd seen pass her by.

[jacob-hill]

What? He said that? I’m not crazy.

[glochoa]

I didn't mean you were.