She Is As Strong As Every Element

Joshua Earle
Joshua Earle

She is wind. She glides along every kind of surface, light to the touch, shaping and shifting and floating through the trees. She knows no limits and has yet to be stopped in her tracks. She is the one who feeds everyone around her with the vigor that they lack.

She breathes parts of herself into the world around her,

letting the colors bleed and blend on empty pages and spilling over the edge. Everything is art. Every touch, every word, every sigh. A black and white life is her worst nightmare. She lives life outside the line, tiptoeing on it like it’s a wire hundreds of feet in the air and she’s got no net to catch her below. It sounds dangerous. It is. This is the only way she knows how to live, knowing that each breath could be her last. Not one moment goes to waste.

She is air.
She is transparent, but not always what you’d expect. She is the oxygen that fills your lungs, the sweet breath of life that gives you what you need to survive. She occupies every corner of your life, demanding to be acknowledged and fighting for the spot that she deserves.

Don’t waste this. Don’t let her slip through your fingers again.

She is everywhere. Though you can’t always see her, and you find yourself reaching for something you may never truly touch, the reminders are there. Look for them. A song, a scribbled note, a flutter in the trees that holds your gaze. The sound of silence screams and kicks and bruises more than words ever could. Don’t let this die. It’s worth too much.

She is water.
She cools you and makes you feel alive but reminds you that even the softest touch can kill. Sometimes you feel as though you could drown in her and live to tell the tale. The most powerful force on Earth, she has never been questioned by those who feel her power. Do not look her in the eyes and tell her she is weak. No, she is not weak. Something this beautiful shouldn’t even exist, but here she is, masquerading as a perfect storm. The tidal wave hits you like a wall of bricks and you need to lay low to let it pass. It always does. The water covers every inch of you until you’re soaked and shaking down to your very core. Your bones are chilled, your teeth are chattering, your feet are numb. But even after the water finally dries, and the day’s turned to night, and the game’s been played, you won’t forget her. She refuses to be forgotten.

She is fire. She smolders, burning and collapsing into herself every single night just to see what happens. Her skin is paper and it catches fire quicker than you could ever imagine. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen, and the strange urge to sit back and watch tugs on your brain, willing you to not intercede. You don’t know where this urge comes from but you don’t question it. You watch as the smoke rises up to the ceiling and fills every inch of the room she’s in. Her lungs are black from all of the ash she’s inhaled, but her heart still beats. Her fingers still tremble just like they did when you first met her.

You call it reckless; she calls it living. This kind of self-immolation is both a blessing and a curse – it burns her too easily but it’s a story to tell.

It’s something to fill the silence that creeps its way into late-night conversations, to reaching over and finding the space next to you empty, to questions that always go unanswered. She’s scared of getting too close because your body isn’t used to catching fire like hers is. Her skin is a built-in safety suit, but the flames still bleed straight through the sleeves. It’s not easy to feel everything so deeply.

She is the earth spinning, the tides turning, the chaotic order in your life that you never knew you needed until it slapped you right in the face. She is every beautiful disaster there ever was. Don’t let this pass by, as a fleeting memory of something that could’ve been. This is too precious. Nothing’s forever, though sometimes it seems like you could freeze that one moment in time and use it to get through tomorrow and the next day and the next after that. Regret is the gnawing feeling that pounds at the walls in your chest and collapses your insides, and it wears you down. Say what you need to say before time runs out. The clock’s ticking – it’s reverberating and getting louder with each passing second. Take this very moment, right here, right now, and use it. Don’t let this go. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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