It Wasn't Much-But It Was Everything To Her.

She never needed much.

She always believed in more; in fate and that which spins unspeakably throughout lifetimes with the intrepid tint of indigo. The type of faith that holds us close against the blustery winds of doubt and despair and perhaps that was why she often radiated sunshine even within the darkest of storms.

Unshakable, unmovable; she was her own certainty, and when she gave, she gave it all. When she loved, she did so fully, when she trusted, she did so without doubt, and when she believed, she did so without reservations.

But that was her. She didn’t know in-betweens, she wasn’t even familiar with half ways, either you had all of her-or none of her, and that was her truth because some of us just live in extremes. Perhaps she was just crazy, but she was really only crazy about life; about a love that the world universe conspired to create and bring together.

The thing was with women like her, they only needed to know that they were special; unique.

Not to boost their egos but so that they would know that someone else besides themselves was aware of their value. She could get through any darkness if she knew that the person she was walking with saw her full light. Women like her just wanted to be told she was your once in a lifetime; the kind of woman from which there is no going back from.

And whether you called her a storm or your peace, the truth is they all feel the same because they clear away everything that was until all that’s left was what was simply already yours. Maybe her winds blew too strongly at times, and while she often called herself a contradiction, the truth is she was just herself. Uncomplicatedly complicated, mysteriously mysterious and lovingly loving; she was everything and nothing simultaneously and so she all she wanted was simply someone to count on.

It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate the process or even that she has an end result in mind because she doesn’t, but it does have to do with not having to wonder, not needing to guess, or figure out. She has never wanted to make a trap of her heart, but only wished for the type of consistency that would let her relax into a connection and journey where it was the experiences that shaped the love that grew.

She’s been given many things by men; compliments faded quickly against their lack luster appeal, promises died just as fatefully as the vibrant asters that she held within the changing winds and the dreams that never actually grew became a graveyard of what ifs. So she learned to never believe in anyone and never count on anyone because the truth is she never actually had been able to.

She had to be her own anchor and maybe she was just tired of holding herself and everyone else around her down.

And so the day came when she finally realized that consistency is the new sexy; the new everything.

But consistency isn’t predictability, it’s not monotony or even routine; but it is something that is a constant. And don’t we all need to know that we can stop holding our breath waiting, and simply just be. I suppose we could say that we need to be consistent for ourselves, or even that perhaps she sought inconsistency unconsciously because at one point that was all she was capable of, but in the light of day, it’s so much more than that.

She had a taste of it; of consistency, love, support and with it, in many ways her world was ruined because she then realized that maybe it didn’t look how others thought normal or love should, but in truth nothing had ever felt better; nothing had ever contributed to her happiness more.

But soon even that faded, and while the love remained, everything else seemed to fall away and with it the opening up of her true self. Sometimes there are those of us that bloom at night, secretly under the stars, and while we could debate about whether she should open to the world or not, the truth is she only knew how to open slowly, carefully, like the white roses under the sweltering heat of the August moon.

It had taken her a lifetime to learn to lean; to depend on someone else, to believe that someone could actually show up-and not leave, that regardless of what life may throw or evolve into, someone could tatter her walls and disbelief with their consistency that was rock steady.

She simply had begun to believe that maybe love didn’t always leave, give up, or change its mind.

And maybe that still is the truth, but she’s also tired of wondering, tired of opening and then closing, tired of believing and then being told she’s foolish, tired of hoping but then yet being told there is nothing to hope in.

There might be a million things more expensive than consistency; after all it’s not ever going to shine bright like diamonds because it’s real. It’s present and it’s the everyday of a million moments that we rarely tell to anyone because sometimes we just don’t know how. Consistency is the choice to be there on the hard days, the days when we have a hard time showing up for ourselves, but still making the choice to do it for those that matter most. It’s not caring what came before, or even what may come tomorrow, but knowing that there isn’t anything that could occur that would make us stop showing up.

It’s the choice to be there for the amazingness of celebrations and sunsets, but also the days when we crumple to the kitchen floor crying because it feels like life won that round. Consistency will never be normal, or routine, but it knows that we don’t have to ask because it’s freely given; it’s being able to be ourselves because we know we’ll always be enough, and it’s being able to be vulnerable because someone always makes the effort to have us feel seen.

And so maybe she didn’t need much, but to her it was simply everything.