She is sweet faced and dimpled, smiling gently at everyone in general, and no one in particular.  Kindness spreads from her like angel wings.  The glint in her eye is apple pie, and picket fences, and rosy-pink babies dressed in organic cotton.  It is hand-knit mittens, woolen socks, and comfortable shoes. It is coordinated decor, neat stacks, and pure-bred puppies.  It is intelligence focused humbly in one virtuous direction.

She will make her way through life one tiny, careful choice at a time, measuring each decision by a delicate code of balance that is nearly unconscious, for she has been loved well, and raised wisely.  She will listen before speaking, look before leaping, but perhaps unnecessary when decisions come easy to one who has been raised without doubt. Everything will progress as it should.  She will be made wife, and mother, and balance a steady, slow progressing career in between.  Fulfillment is not a question in the vocabulary of her psyche.  It is already here, and there is more to come.  Temporary plagues of inconsequential insecurities only serve to wrap support more snugly round her shoulders.

She is, in a word, unmarked.

With love,

P.S. If you would like to write your own word portrait, tips are here.