On a joyride called her moodswings...(a friend wrote this for me)

Switching in and out of the alpine green and the arctic freeze is something most people can only dream of . and havin experienced both at the same time on
numerous occasions courtesy her, i can be proud of it . she sways in and out of different moods , can be evil or an angel , can be naughty or coy , can be
the closest person or someone who you harldy ever knew . i remember seeing her for the first time , full of shimmer n dat exuberant sparkle in her eyes that
some how gripped my attention . she could make you feel wanted like a peice of her heart , like air she can't breathe without , seal your heart with her
kisses and on other days she would just run away as if you were stalking her . her bruises and hurt have never healed , they somehow keep coming back to her
, switching places , company , fighting her own self she some how cant get over it .
She could sound like an imbecile juvenile , or perhaps on other days shock you with her sense of maturity and worldly knowledge . perfectly affable during
day time and perhaps a curse during the night . what amuses me and grips me towards her in this world full of pretty faces and diverse mind sets is her knack
of going las vegas and tibet @ da same time ( oh yes shes got a spiritual side as well ). she would do anything to bring about joy to a sad face and at times
even a room full of dead people won't bother her . shes your eternal damsel in distress , u believe somehow you can be her prince charming to the rescue but
lo !! she would somehow find her own way back on her feet somehow .

Her cute fantasies of dwelling in a world full of candies and chocloates would make you want to hug her ( if she lets you that is) , and at other times
perhps she would want to walk on the beach with you barefeet . every time i think of her i remember a rather famous poem by emily dickingson which goes like

:

Hope
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

You gasp a gush of breath and wonder how often can she surprise you (warning : her wrath could swipe you off too) . But all you would ever yearn for is to feel her around you and stay happily in love with all that she does...