To her that walks on sunshine
With burning feet on soft sand
A sun-burned face showing a smile
And a surfboard under one arm.
To her that hides in the comfort of the blankets
Or in the warmth of a bubbling bath
A steaming black tea with sugar
And a dog nested at her feet.
To her that keeps a strong mind thanks to morning yoga
A few chords played on the guitar
Or an explosion of colours in a canvas that was once terrifyingly white.
To her whose skin is white as a pearl
Glamourised by the flowers she picked
While trembling over the heels that elongate the silhouette.
To her whose skin is dark as chocolate
With long black lashes blinking faster than most hearts
Accompanying a laugh that cannot be tamed
And echoes in a room once lifeless.
To her that covers her hair
In the name of beauty or something bigger
Not realising she has the biggest power on Earth inside of her.
To her that writes a bunch of loose feelings in a piece of paper
Takes pictures that capture reality through her own special lens
And reads about Humanity in disbelief.
To her, who is logical, analytical
With a love for numbers and correlations
That looks up at the stars and doesn’t believe they lead the way.
To her that has faith
Believes in magic
And plots everyone’s birth charts at a cozy dinner with friends.
To her, that is you, and me, and all women on this planet.
To her that is so complete and diverse that the whole is much more than the separate parts of the soul.
To her that is mystical and concrete, in a world that is too little and never enough.
My blog completes today 2 years of existence, and because of its natural femininity, it has resiliently survived between compliments and criticism, love and pure hate landing on the comments’ box.
My blog is the fiercest woman I know.