She is not the woman who was lost in the woods or in unknown streets of a new city or even in the crowded fairs.
She is the woman who gets lost in her everyday life.
She is not a woman unknown to us.
She is you.
She is me.
She is the woman I look in the mirror every morning. She is the woman on the other side. She stares at me. I shy away from looking at her, lest she reminds me of my flaws. She has freckles. Cellulite too. But she doesn't have the heart that beats inside of me. The one that rules my actions but seldom my mind. She does not have my mind either. My mind! The one that never stops thinking. The only part of me that stays relentless.
She is the woman behind the garb. She is like a Matryoksha - the Russian doll. Pull her open and you will find her again, each time a diminished version of her. The mother, the wife, the daughter, the colleague... and somewhere at the very end a tiny woman that is just her. Indivisible.
She is made of metal but take away the love, and she could crumble. She is full of confidence but take away the shield, and she is vulnerable. She burns like fire, extinguishing herself in all she does. She calms like the ocean, hiding icebergs under her. Sometimes she weeps, quietly like the first summer showers. Sometimes she thunders and then there are those days when she is torrential.
You think she is a mix of emotions. But she is just a maze of thoughts and a quagmire of feelings that pulls her in, one day at a time.