Ticking and boxes.

This was written about a woman I admired in my first year of university for homework. It's quite raw, and I had to change a lot so I wouldn't be breaking any mystery around the womans identity. I asked if I could write it when I did though, and I like looking back on it every now and then.
Here it is:

Every flick of the pen her writing curves, spirals and dances its way across the lined page, every word is like an enchantment that captures a part of me, something that I am willing to succumb to. She has read more novels, essays and journals than I could ever hope to match, and she lives her life unashamedly and fully. She proclaims that her life is not exciting, but I know that down to her roots, every part of her is exciting and exotic. To say that she wasn’t would be like denying a foundational truth of life.

 She has great love affairs, and even greater losses. She names her lovers after shapes, the constant in her life, the only one who she has given herself completely to. Never to forget the circles, triangle and hexagons that have gone through her life - sometimes I live vicariously through her relationships and lovers because it is always penned so beautifully, with such passion and joy, no matter how heart breaking the ending is.

 An enigmatic character in a mystery novel that is not quite finished. When her letters await me I know that she will make me see the beauty in life again, and the possibility of youth. In conversation about the unfairness of circumstance told me that, “We are young, intelligent and we have hopes. We can do anything that we want” and suddenly I was convinced. The impossible is merely the improbable and even then the most challenging of tasks is always achievable. I admire her, for her life, and for her incredible capacity to love. She is a woman that I aspire to be.