girl - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Chivalry is a girl's best friend. You're still strong, still capable, but being treated as a woman feels good.
The girl was clearly deep in thought, journeying through some creative stream only she could sense.
There was a steadiness to her, as if all the storms in the world were a whispering breeze if she was there. She was kind and clever, perhaps that's what drew people to her. It was as if she knew she was born to be a queen of the earth, one who helped others, using her brain to fix whatever needed fixing. There was nothing "princess" about her though, just a fierce independence and a motherliness too... and she was that way from girlhood, confident with the air of a warrior. I loved her, we all did.
Her eyes spoke of a beautiful soul and her movements told of a need for nurture, but then perhaps that's how we all are. How telling it is that so many have the appearance of the animal that has known intense suffering, such at the dogs that are rescued from cruel indifference. I knew right then, that all she needed was my love, something steady to hold onto and in time those eyes would shine as they were born to. And perhaps in that rescuing of her I was rescuing myself too. For what is the appearance but the window dressing of the soul?
Her hair was as waves of pure earth, softly reflecting the light of the sun; each strand moving freely in an ocean born breeze, a compliment to her stillness. With eyes of river waters, in glossy serenity, her aura seeped into the summer air between us. And in that moment, in that fraction of time, her smile was in every God given feature, and I knew I was home.
The girl had a voice that was like music under a summer breeze, almost lost against the noise of the Monday morning traffic. Yet somehow it took hold of Ted, making him want to listen all the more.
The girl is like a snapshot out of time. I can see her chestnut hair blowing in the spring breeze, her youthful face turned toward the sun. Though her feet are scarred she still dances, dances like the joy of life within her cannot be tamed. In that purple shirt and jeans she could be anyone, no-one. But to me she is the world itself and without her I cannot enjoy a simple flower or the rising sun. There is nothing I wouldn't do to keep her safe from harm, but I cannot protect her forever. I can only be there when she falls and stand well back while she reaches for the stars.
From under long blonde bangs shone eyes the colour of wet earth, and below that a nose so freckled that the brown splotches overlapped much like fall leaves after a wind storm. Her smile was warm with a hint of shyness. I loved her already.