she could be a sculptor. her eyes would never stop looking for opportunities to build. rocks may be her favourite, but she’d leave stacks of my belongings, books, homework, food, and devices for me to wake up to, impressing me in different ways each time.
she could be a musician. a type i already know well, but her voice would be sweeter than any i’ve ever heard, and her songs could feel like evenings in the rain kissing her, surrounded in warm candles and thick blankets.
she could be a gymnast. her body would be built and solid from the years of discipline and training i could never fathom nor match the control she has, but her strength would only make her softer and gentler for fear of hurting those smaller than her, because she was always made too aware of it.
she could be a writer. sometimes a researcher first, for the most ridiculous of things (“you have to know these things as a writer!” she would laugh, looking up again the details of horrible children’s toys from 1843). she would have written herself into my heart long before she wrote anything for me.
she could be a mathematician. she could describe the details of different fractals, the nature of dividing by zero, and theories that explain that one plus one can still equal one. she could go in for hours and i would be thrilled to learn or just to hear her speak. her passion would be enough to reignite my day.
she could be a fashion designer. her designs would be magical, something out of a storybook that makes the wearer feel invincible and beautiful all at once. she could offer to make me shoes and gloves over and over again, but none would fit so well as her hand in mine.
she could be any or none of these things. she could be here and gone in a few days, a few months, or a few years. but the woman i fall in love with will be beautiful because her soul and heart will be gold. all i will ever be able do is to keep up.
