late-night monologues.as I write this, I am nineteen years old with patchily dyed flame-red hair, sitting in bed wearing a tank top rolled up above my navel and a pair of navy bikini underwear. they've got a lot more fabric than the ones I usually wear, but I don't mind that as much as I mind that they're blue with this word written all over them in capital letters: PINK. looking down, I can see the magenta stone glittering in my navel and the tattoo of the key on my right hip. on the nightstand to my right is an antique oil lantern, a remote control, a bottle of water, my cell phone, a spoon, and a lamp without a shade; the bulb glaring brightly from the top of this lamp turns half the skin on my belly the same color as the gold shading on my tattoo and casts the rest into shadow broken only by the suggestion of translucent hairs.
I've got long legs which are crossed one knee over the other, and two feet and ten toes. I tried getting my four-year-old charge to count my fingers, once, but she got to five, skipped right over six and counted five seven eight nine ten eleven. there's a nickelback song stuck in my head and brown freckles pocking my skinny arms. my ribs stick out and my teeth are crooked, but I know a boy who doesn't care. he's just as beautifully messed up as I am, I guess.
mostly, you could say I'm happy. still there are those times when I'm not but they come and go a lot faster now. as I write this, I am nineteen years old with patchily dyed flame-red hair, sitting in bed wearing a tank top rolled up above my navel and a pair of navy bikini underwear. last year a man got down on one knee for me and I said yes and then said no six months later. now I'm in love with a different man who loves me but isn't in love with me and the girl I used to know is gone, long gone. she raised her little pouty head when we found out but I sent her packing. I'm an optimist now, see. this time last year if you'd have told me the same thing I would have just up and stopped trying; but now, I just plow right on through because I know that he can fall in love with me if I give him the time, and that's just what I'll do. there's not a thing that makes me think he couldn't: I'm smart, just in a different way from most people, and I might not be Grace Kelly, but I've got a right pretty enough face to look at for a little while. having a twenty-three inch waist has to count for something, too, right?
besides, I'm a capable, independent woman who's finally got a plan. I am nineteen years old with patchily dyed flame-red hair, sitting in bed wearing a tank top rolled up above my navel and a pair of navy bikini underwear, and in two years I hope to be a preschool teacher making plans for a trip down the aisle with him.
Optimism
--
I could be wrong, I could be ready
oh, but if I take my heart's advice,
I should assume it's still unsteady;
I am in repair, I'm in repair
You MUST tell me all about your meeting!!
--
This is who I am:
Escapist, Paradise Seeker...
Nightwish
I sent you a note.
--
I could be wrong, I could be ready
oh, but if I take my heart's advice,
I should assume it's still unsteady;
I am in repair, I'm in repair
As I said, you are the most lucky person in the world to me é_è
Nightwish rocks
--
This is who I am:
Escapist, Paradise Seeker...
Nightwish
--
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