I Wish I Was The Girl Who…


I wish I was the girl who effortlessly and exclusively wears black bras.

The girl who is kind of a mess in all the dangerous ways.

The girl whose messy, greasy hair always looks intricately just right.

The girl with the oversized eyes.

The girl with the crooked smile that slants in just the right way.

The girl with one lone dimple.

The girl who forgets to eat lunch.

The girl with so many acquaintances and so little friends.

The girl who escaped a small town at 17.

The girl who can wear a negligée as a dress.

The girl who gets sloppy, but forgivably drunk.

The girl whose tiny, disorganized studio apartment is still somehow charming.

The girl that didn’t go past a semester of college, but is still intimidatingly well read.

The girl who never talks to her family.

The girl who has a cat she neglects.

The girl you meet at a party. The one that catches your eye, just for a moment. Then she’s gone.

You know that girl. Sometimes I wish she was me.

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