Silhouettes don’t have soliloquies
The form is justified in a simpler sense by physical features. I'm sure you've gotten the gist of how adjectives work, and you've heard the multitude of them, but schematically the lines are drawn, as if on a chalkboards darkest background : small but round head, to a slender connection to shoulders that jut but a bit, and further downward, somewhat awkward, to the fingertips, and back up to the crease their arm creates with chest and back down, effortless, down almost in straight lines to where toes give balance to the feet they walk upon.
That's not a paragraph? I'm aware, but that's a huge blank descriptor, let me continue. She starts as if drawn up by some divine creator to exemplify qualities I can't explain. Physically, the body is given a far more appealing and delightful drawing of curvature. Why with men they believe it should be rigid, as if to indicate that the muscles are disciplined to know invincibility, or godhood, but it's truly she that knows immunity with the soft flow, like a waterfall, of creation down her being.
Does this mean she's over-encumbered with the weight of the equipment of her body? I don't know. I imagine in some of these portraits there is some give and take. You'll have to forgive the simplicity of the mind I have, I've been male long before I knew words. Yet, there's so many, and they come addressed so diversely, that's a clear indicator that if there's a god, it cares: I don't funnel my like,love,lust, and la de freaking da into one category. However, my experience with their misery of their gift is present mentally, and not directly associated with a physical struggle, yet.
So I'm sure you are a little irritated at my sometimes arrogant ability to dodge a question , and almost feed bits and pieces of the answer..Me too. It makes me anxious on the second because I can find things I can dig into instantaneously, but also things that cause me to refrain almost the same way, if implosively. I can't explain it nor is it the fault of the other. I just rarely smash the stopping apparatus of my mind and because of that, I've lived so many scenarios I'll never see, and prepared for even fewer. I'm sure my penis is thrilled about it.
So how do I describe her? I've seen pieces here and there, and I've definitely flirted with the idea of those coming together in one. She is but light to the darkness that saturates the waves that compose my mind. She is but glory to the disgust I find in the activities I find relief in readily. However...I feel when I explore this, it's not that she doesn't exist, it's that, there's so much more to her than I can really use as an explanation. Where as I am expected to have some form of rigidity and structure the anticipation for flow and freedom touches me many-fold. I am Yin, because there's no appropriate delay or introduction to jaw-drop: she is Yang.