TIGER LILY
She insists it is her name, but I find it hard to fathom. Aside from the exotic ridicule of the monicker, it's too perfect. How could her parents have been so prescient all those years ago?
Perhaps they looked at their swaddled newborn and were already able to see the woman she would become. Perhaps they were big fans if Peter Pan, or even horticulturally minded with a penchant for orange variants.
Either way, it is a perfect name, and it is the only one I have ever known her by.
Her yard is filled with the orange blossoms with which she shares her name. The sweet aromas a perfect complement to her own earthy scent. She is definitely a person on nature. Her skin is a deep sienna brown, flawless and smooth. Her eyes are the colour of crystalized ivy, and speckled with a hint of deep blue summer skies. Her long black hair flows weightlessly around her shoulders like a midnight waterfall.
She is the definition of natural beauty, a perfect concoction of balance, harmony, and symmetry.
There is a regality to her composure as well, her perfect posture and introspective ways. When she speaks, in her pensive deliberate tones, she commands attention.
I realize that my fascination with her borders on love. Not desire, or lust, i have never thought of her sexually, but a purest version of the age-old undefinable.
I have known her for years, but it feels like an instance. She radiates peace, tranquility and a sense of simplicity, almost a though her presence alone can reduce life's complexities to their base elements.
She is all that is right and just.
Tiger Lily. A perfect name made all the more powerful because it is hers.
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