Feeling:
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Reading/Watching:

There's a girl I know.

She's 18, has beautiful black hair and cute features, looks great in a tank top, moved here from Mexico when she was seven and writes scholarship-winning poetry and short stories in *two* languages. Her boyfriend has been hers for two years. Now someone tell me why I can't be that.

Not all of it, necessarily, but some. The beauty would be nice. Or the award-winning writing in two languages. Or even in just one. yeah. Award-winning writing. Imagine.

Or even the two-year-man. I have a him-shaped-hole in me right now and it feels cold in there when the wind blows to remind me it's there.

It'll heal. It should. Or at least cover over until it can grow a new shape. I might find this worthwhile if I could get some good heartbreak poetry out of it, but I wasted that on the other girl's boyfriend a year back. Now I'm all about singing other people's songs and borrowing brilliance until I can grow some back through the him-shaped-hole.

Why can't it already be in the Independent-Young-Woman-Flying-Headlong-Into-Her-Bright-Future shape? That'd be nice, too.

Ordinary must be one of the most subtle insults of the English language, because you don't feel its sting until you're swimming in it.

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