People seemed to have the idea that asking lots of questions meant she was smart. Such compliments supported her internal giggles and served to balance the remnants of internal terrors.
Such judgement resulted in her baring a peaceful countenance but she didn’t meet those people until she was an adult.
As a child people seemed to have the idea that asking lots of questions meant she was stupid. Such insults created an internal terror and served to build a catacomb of infant scars and tears.
Those people were the first she laid eyes on after entering the world. Such judgements resulted in her baring a stoic countenance.
She is one of many peaceful stoics who have freed themselves of all judgements, those deemed good as well as bad. They found a way to make their burdens light then loosed from mental attachment wherein rightness found satisfaction only when succumbing to righteousness.
Much like them she leads her steps with gypsy questions to roam the earth untethered to the finality of mans variable truths, accepting their candles in the dark and releasing them in the wind where dust and curiosity allows for inspired attunement to the faces of those whose lips are taut from abjected scar tissue, whose eyes are opened and burdened by the walls their eyelids attempt to protect them from.
These are the walls their hearts are naturally trained to climb and their ears naturally attuned to hear, those that direct their steps in search of a child’s tears that were never seen and never wiped away.
Behind the eyes of every adult lives a child who has been decorated in salts of love and hate then buried into life’s bath to exit without whetness in search of the soul that cries out from behind those walls banging their fists and demanding release, that their heart be freed to inscribe upon the earth their answers, that each be written in blood along the paths of every war believed won, that it remind trailblazers that war is never victorious until the walls come tumbling down and that even then victory must wear garments of hope before raising her hands in the symbol of peace.
At the sight of ground zero there shall be no pause for celebration, no medals doled for bravery and no moving on to the next wall as if the crumbling were the aim.
The assignment of every gypsy trailblazer is to temporarily relinquish their luxuries to stand watch, stand by and fan the flames ignited when behind those walls an impassioned heart finds its oxygen in loving exposure.