A beautiful soul. //

You’re a beautiful soul, Abelia.

I’ve just stared at those words for so long. Thinking it through over and over again. Feeling like doing stuff, but not sure what. This time really believing I could do it. I could write for the world to be changed. But directly after that, feeling like I would just let myself down. I was imagining things and over-thinking again and again.

Unstoppable. 
That’s the word I was looking for. I wasn’t able to stop. And I wasn’t planning to.

A beautiful soul.

What does that mean?

Speaking about mean. I am Abelia Ravenwood.

(Which has absolutely nothing to do with ‘mean’.)

Frances Mason Abelia. The plant I was named after. Which make my scientific name to be: Abelia x grandiflora 'Frances Mason'. (Google it, it really does exist) My full name: Frances Mason Abelia Greenery Ravenwood. Yes, I really am named after a plant. A low, densely branched plant. With green glossy leaves. And the occasionally soft pink, trumpet-shaped flowers in summer.

Forgive me, I really have no idea why I have such an earthy name.

And by the way, most people who speak to me, call me Abby anyway.

Let’s move on. What else is there to know.

22 years old university student. I study creative writing.

On the subject of CW (Creative Writing)

Although I think it’s supposed to be some sort of weird mind-fucking theory about getting your hopes up and fast grammatical understanding, I think it’s mostly crap.

Accept for the fact that I get to write a ton of stuff  - again the stuff - and I get to read a lot of books. Which I love. So, that should be good, huh? Well, it is.

Sort of.

The people on uni are interesting, yet very kind. So that makes me want to be kind. So that’s what I do when I’m out in the crowd.

Being kind.

Beautiful.

Whatever it is.. I hope you understand, if I say it’s quite an effort to get something to be beautiful. As we will now take a look at myself. I used to not think I was beautiful all the time. All the time.
I was this .. girl. I wasn't happy with my height. Way to tall for all the boys in my surrounding. I had to many belly- and upper-leg fat. At least that was what I thought.. every now and then.

I only liked my face. I have beautiful eyes. There’s that word again.

And I kind of like my choice of clothing.

So that’s a good thing.

I knew what I wanted for a very long time. By the time I turned 19, which now is a little bit over a year ago, I had no clue of what I wanted.

Let alone say that I knew who I was or who I was going to be in the nearby-future.
So .. that’s awesome.

Let’s say I felt weird reading these words. Written by someone as close as your high school Arts teacher. Which in my case it was. My Arts teacher, mr. McGillian, wrote this on the back sheet of the last paper I had to turn in about some Ancient Greek building. Honestly  I can’t even remember what I’d written in that paper.

Just these words.

I ripped the paper out and took it with me.

And now, a little over 5 years later, not even remembering what that paper was about, I find myself staring at those same words. Over and over again. 
Thinking. 
What went through this guy’s head? What did he meant when he said, or should I say: wrote, this? And then again I find myself wondering why this is keeping me so preoccupied.

But it’s not like I didn't hear or see those words before. I remember one time... – this needs a little background story -
I write a lot. And due to the things I have to write for my study, I write a lot about poetic things and romantic tragedy-stuff like Shakespeare - that guy really didn't got his shit together. He’s just dabbling about whether not to write about real love or fake love or broken love or whatever love they had back in the days.

Whether to write a book or a poem or a play. Or all of them at the same time - because I have Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet in book-form in my bookshelf, while that’s the actual play, written in such poetic form that even my English History teacher chokes on the sentences he'd put together.

With that being said, I will move back to the topic I was really talking about. I've read those words before. 
And because I write a lot, I have this notebook. In which I write a lot of .. let's say personal stuff. I left my notebook in the library earlier this year when I started at uni. And this guy, who’s name I didn't got, brought back my notebook. I thought it was really nice.

Some part of me hoped he had read some pages. Or looked it through at least. And the other half was so anxious about someone reading anything from that notebook, because it held all my poems and sentimental-writing and book-like stories.
But when I took it from him, he smiled and I just knew he'd read something. Then I took the notebook and laid it down on my desk, with its back facing me. And it had something scribbled on it. The cover was white, so it was an easy read. It said:

These words are probably the once that make the most sense in this whole building.

You have a beautiful soul, Abelia.

(My name was on the inside, in case, which was now the case, it would get lost. So that’s something he got right.)

I was shocked and relieved at the same time.

That's when I read the words before. I still have the notebook. But never took it out again.

I am Abelia Ravenwood
And you're reading Abelia 2.0

GOODBYE