“If she’s amazing, she won’t be easy. If she’s easy, she won’t be amazing. If she’s worth it, you won’t give up. If you give up, you’re not worthy.” ~ Bob Marley
She’s worth it, your wild one.
She will set your world on fire, if you are brave enough to let her.
She will enchant you, fulfill you and challenge you. She wants you to know her, so that you can love her, quirks and all.
She wants you to understand that your adorned magnolia walls can’t hold her inside, not for long. Your expensive beamed ceilings can never be high enough or remarkable enough to be worth missing a glimpse of her beloved azure sky. Your home is a beautiful prison certainly, but it destroys her all the same.
Her spirit paces the enclosed room like a caged tigress, tail swishing furiously, looking for escape. She longs to run free. Show her a meadow full of colour, where she can dance among sunflowers. Let her roam outside with no fancy ornaments or gadgets to distract her creativity, just breeze and rolling hills. Lay with her on cool grass, fingers entwined, and watch the stars blaze a path of glory across an inky midnight sky.
Don’t ask her to sit and play happy family with you. She doesn’t care if you buy the white toaster or the black one, or whether the neighbours have a bigger car than the two of you. She isn’t interested in chasing the extra dollar to have that standard resort vacation, or attending to mindless gossip. Let her dream of a far off glen, glistening ethereally in the soft light of the rising sun. Take her to listen to the song of the dawn birds, for they are all the small talk she needs.
She doesn’t iron the sheets, or, well, anything really. She is too busy curling up with a book, engrossed in a shiny new world waiting to be explored. She has never been able to relate to the domesticated heroines of old; tumbling from her own bed to her next adventure, wild haired and bright eyed. People tell her she is beautiful in her crumpled clothes and muddy boots. Passion always is. Recognise it. Worship it. Not everyone is blessed with it and it’s not something you can fake for too long.
She may not cook you a gourmet meal, but she loves food and she delights in feeding you. Let her. She won’t follow a recipe; she will trust her imagination, throwing in delicious colours and smells as they appeal to her. Let her wrap you in small strong arms, cover you in flour and sprinkle magic into your life. She will kiss you with a mouth that tingles with spices, leaving you hungry for more. She will never let your lips starve for her.
She won’t knit for you. She is young and restless and her time is too precious to spare. Her hands have more important things to explore right now. Your face, for instance; fingers lovingly remembering every last detail. She memorises the way you shudder when she lightly strokes your collarbone and how your stubble feels against her fingertips. This satisfies her far more than a ball of yarn ever could.
Let her breathe, your wild one. She will only stay if it feels right. Your mortal hands cannot bind her by holding her too tightly. Show her your fantasies and you might inspire her. She will tell you a story about what she longs to do with you, and to you. You should stop speaking then and listen. Her words are enchantments that weave mystery into your life, and her visions will never leave you, even when you ache to forget them. In years to come you will crave the power of her dreams, and others will pale in the shadow of her intensity.
She must run away now, the stars are calling her and life tugs at her soul ready for another adventure. She cannot be tamed. Love her if you will, or let her go. She cannot do this by halves.
She is chaos; she is freedom. She wants you to join her if you can. You know where to find her. You have seen her there in your head.
She will wait for you as always, where the wild things are.
Originally published here on EJ.
Photo: Michelle Hébert/Flickr