Poetry in Motion

There once was a girl. Many stories start with something as simple as one person, one person in billions and billions who has a story to tell. Sometimes the story is dramatic or even melodramatic, it could be happy or sad but most stories are written to tap into your heart and scrawl something new.
This girl was nothing spectacular. Hair that was only just brown in the light and eyes that became totally black in the dark, skin a faint gold that fades into a pale pink-yellow in the winter, the cold pinching her cheeks until they shone red. 
It was winter where this story stands although it is being written every minute of every hour of every day. Today she walks, wind biting her lips and making it hard. She bites the insides of her cheeks as she does every day, a nervous habit that has now slipped into a boredom habit. Walking steadily she hobbled across the icy road where the snow was compacted and black with the dirt of too many tyres.She didn't like the snow, it only caused disruption where it fell and it always spent too long fading away. Not to mention snow days were rare due to the absolute determined opening of the school. That's where she was headed. 
Such a miserable place, full of measuring people up to someone elses standards. You could only feel like you had achieved something if someone else told you that you had. Could they measure wit? Or creative flair? Or a good sense of humour? She thought not, and those were the things that mattered in a person; at least to her they were.
But there was one thing spurring her on in this repeated journey to and from school. A boy, or rather a man. Perhaps both. Someone stuck in that unnamable stage of maturity, where the innocence of childhood has faded but they haven't yet been stained with the cynicism of adulthood. A beautiful stage she thought. Many of the stories she read were based on people in this stage, growing through experiences rather than time. She was in love with this person, or so she suspected. 
When they were together it was comfortable whether words were said or not. When they were apart a faint longing touched their minds no matter what they were doing. He accepted her; chips on each shoulder and all. She could be raw and honest with him and he smiled with his blue eyes and would stroke her hand claiming that it didn't matter. 
But most of all he forgave her. Forgiveness is the one thing that can solidify love. If someone can accept your mistake, your broken being, and continue to love you all the same; that is love. And that is what he did. She had expected to see an accusing look in his eye asking 'Why?' but she was wrong. His eyes were clear as water and held only an affectionate sympathy for her. 
They shared their pain. His of the betrayal he overcame and hers of the mistakes that would forever cast a shadow over her life. But at least someone would step into the shadow to be with her. 

xx

Keep writing your life story people.