I'd see a girl who was in a perpetual state of being just thrown together. Usually I rush out the door pulling her fingers through uncombed tendrils of confused hair. I haven't put a color in my hair since it was orange, and that has long since faded to an occasional tint. Still, I wouldn't be able to decide what color her hair was: blonde or brown, or, if the orange decided to show, some sort of redhead. My hair is very reflective of how I am on the inside, I can't decide how to be. One minute I'm soaring free, the next I feel like my soul is trapped at the bottom of the lowest pit of a dungeon. My sociability can also follows the same sort of lack of pattern. One morning I might feel like doing nothing, seeing no one, but that night I want to go out and really live in the world! Then, the next night I might be desperate, and the night after that, have totally high pure thoughts and desires.
If I were to look at myself, I would see my eyes move in desirous ways, that begged for the touch of kindred soul, all the while my body closing off the rest of world, protecting me from the overpowering harsh glare. I would notice the shadows underneath my faraway sad ocean eyes, with as many shade of blue as there are waves. A smile might appear intermittently on my face so accustomed to aloneness, few would seem to light up my face, most would look simply like a contortion of muscles to the observant eye. My skin would have the smooth fading traces of the many kisses the Sun has left upon me, like the memory of a fleeting love affair, which makes me sad, at times, that it has passed.
I am a soul grounded, perceiving, and waiting; a body moving, working, and exchanging; a spirit and mind searching and researching for truth. One who could never be simply classified or explained.