The Girl Who Believes In Fate

She who believes in fate has patience and knows a good thing will come her way. She knows the past has been littered with disappointment, heartbreak and personal scars. She grows from this.

She knows that life continues. On the outside, she appears to walk aimlessly through life, yet she knows she is just taking in the little pleasures. She likes to run her fingers along the spines of books on a dusty shelf in the bookstore. Or, you’ll catch her smelling bright yellow lemons at the grocery store that she’ll later use for an intricate meal she’ll cook for herself. She sits inside a Starbucks scribbling in a notebook and tonguing the foam out of the plastic lid like she simply doesn’t care if anyone is watching.

She works hard, tucking bits of her earnings away. She’s a rainy day kind of gal. If she could, she’d live with a couple books and enough clothes to fit a suitcase. She’s not into excess.

If you declare a common interest with her, she’ll scream and throw her arms around you like you’re long-lost twins. During the day, she’ll inject smiles and joy to everyone, and when the sun comes down at night; she sighs and wonders who’ll do the same to her.

Though she wonders when, she never worries. She knows the difference between loneliness and being alone. She’s experienced both. Out of this came lessons and strength. She believes in signs and synchronicity. Things happen for a reason.

Try her out. She’ll smile. She’ll tease. She has built walls from her past, but they will eventually crumble. When she does open up, you’ll embark on a new adventure and discover the mysteries of the world.

She believes in the power of words. She delights in the handwritten note, an art that is long forgotten. Late-hour conversations. Anything that sparks her own creativity. When together, you function as a wildfire of giving and receiving.

Your inspirations.

Her masterpieces.

She wants spontaneous. Disguises and adventures. Espresso-soaked bohemians in 1960s Greenwich Village. Wine and cheese along the Left Bank in Paris. Sylvia and Marcello at the Trevi Fountain. Deep down, she’s a growing romantic underneath a shroud of aloofness. She experiences life through a lens of wonderment.

She understands that good things come if you wait. Cheesecake. Mixing the perfect meringue. The amount of time it takes for coals to be ready on the grill. When all is complete, she will consume with gusto without the congratulatory effort of the hard work that preceded it. She’s gone too long living in a thankless world, but continues to provide her care and abilities.

She’s not afraid to share her stories or show you what she learned in the kitchen at age 6. Tradition runs strong. A life without it breaks her.

Her jokes consist of cracking lines from old sitcoms, expecting everyone to “get it.” She’ll break out in random song or dance. It is not required to join in, but be her audience. After spending her own time choosing the way she lives life, so anticipates you taking the wheel. Pick the place and time. She loves that shit.