She met me in a study hall in 2011, when I had no friends. She decided we would be friends, and we were, and we are. Her ambition, her strength, her loyalty, her genius. Oh, she is beautiful!
Oh, she is beautiful! Her short brown hair that she once shaved all away, her blue-grey eyes that are wider and brighter than any I’ve ever seen. Oh, she is beautiful, so small when she jackknifes her knees to her chin and locks her thin fingers together, so vast when she stands her ground and pushes back against the people who shove her down. Oh, she is beautiful, and she has changed so much since I met her, but I have always known she is beautiful.
She rages against everything that has ever held her back, against the people who broke her down a thousand, a hundred, fifty years ago, and her fury holds the power of a thousand generations. If you were to simply see her, you would think she was so afraid of the world and of what it might do to her. Her leg shakes, her eyes stare, her fingers fidget, she jumps at small noises. But no, when you assume that she’s afraid of what could happen to her, you are wrong. She is not afraid, she is wise, because she knows what the world has done to her, and she is strong enough to stop it from happening again.
Oh, she is beautiful! She is beautiful! There is so much in her eyes and her face, in her wild laugh and even in the way she hides herself in G’s arms and practically climbs her like a tree at every opportunity.
Oh, they are beautiful. They have taken my life and transformed it into something more beautiful than I expected it to be, so young as we are. I don’t know how to express my admiration for everything that they say and that they do, except perhaps with this:
From women’s eyes this doctrine I derive:
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
They are the books, the arts, the academes,
That show, contain, and nourish all the world.
Evolution: An Anthology