My name is like black, or a dark purple, although everyone tells me that my name sounds like a pretty color, maybe light blue, or pink. In my mind blue and purple are these true, deep colors, exactly like my life, beautiful but strong.
When I say my name I hear the way it moves from the back of my mouth to the front, like the word "crisp," similar to the crisp orange leaves on a cold fall morning when your body is all bundled inside your jacket, but everything outside you is literally burning cold. My name is like a boiling hot day of summer, sometimes filled with anger and confusion.
Isabel is a fragmented flower, sometimes blooming with joy and sometimes crumbling to pieces right when I think I found the sunlight I need to grow and change into something a little more beautiful. And sometimes that flower does grow, it picks up it's pieces and for a while I'm unstoppable, untouchable, untroubled.
I think my name is a clock that keeps ticking and ticking, and if I make a mistake I have to pick myself up again, sometimes my life feels like a race with my own time. My name dances through the the short and long hand on the clock, and occasionally when they pass each other I get squished and I have to find my balance and time management again.
Isabel is one strong word that symbolizes Mom, Dad, Chris and Sketch huddled up on the couch watching movies about robots and fat people. My name is my family, annoying parents that I love, a 16 year old boy in a gold plated coffin, my little dog sister.
I say my name so much that it begins to have no meaning, it's the life I have within my name that holds my memories, emotions, pain, and love. 6 letters, I-S-A-B-E- and L. Isabel.
