Paradigm
She dreamed of a state of the purest independence: a forever drifting along the in-between, gliding over and under the faint lines of the past and present and future. She dreamt of autonomy of the highest kind. Yet how could she retain herself if she was constantly bombarded by distractions, slave to the momentary lapses in the composition?.. She struggled to grasp hold of the emotions overtaking her and remain composed before the expectant crowd.
Her hair was always perfectly arranged, neat, not a single strand out of place. Her eyes fixated on the object of her choosing, with a haunting sort of intensity- they never danced, never wandered aimlessly. The binders she carried were devoid of the fanciful scribbles that hinted at childish reveries, the blind idealism so common to those her age- she was fixated, focused, firmly rooted. He wondered if anything could knock her off balance. He couldn't decide if seeing her in a state of chaos- just once, for even a moment- would be shocking or strangely beautiful. Maybe both. Maybe neither.