09.01.13
I know the likelihood of me getting asked to prom measures up to the likelihood of anyone actually using the white crayon in the Crayola box. I am going to be the girl that’s not even on any guy’s Plan B.
And that would be totally cool except I’m sad.
I am shaking my head at God and how he totally owes me one.
Prom is supposed to be like, the fairytale moment! I’ve been dreaming of princes and ballrooms and dancing and romance and magic and love… probably since I was conceived. How could you even let the dreamer girl who wanted to be a princess nurture five hundred layers of beautiful only to coat her with thick paint in the shade called “ugly”? (Trivia: That drives boys away.)
So maybe I still made believe I was a princess. But often enough, the mirror reflects the facade, when I’m expecting it to hold my heart. It gets to a point that you just have to let go.
I have theories. I used to despair and say that I was in the wrong storybook. What a life for such a girl. But it happens that romantics don’t have anyone to hold. (Thus the teddy bears, I suppose. Do you know how hard I hug those? I am pathetic.) My second theory, is maybe I’ve been looking from the wrong perspective. Maybe my life isn’t going to be a fairytale in the way I expect. How about a modernized version or something?
It’s becoming obvious that I don’t really have any ideas.
Except for one last.
Maybe there’s a plot twist?
Maybe there’s a plot twist.