Her

Contrary to what the one or two people who actually got this far are thinking, this blog isn't about me.

This blog is about her.

She is the words I will never say out loud, but I might write on an anonymous blog. She is the girl that sips her Starbucks alone, and is okay with that (even though you football players wouldn't believe her). She is the illnesses I cry about at the doctors’, the rage I can’t hold back at home, the bloody knees from the broken picture frames and the hearts that gasp, suffocating, on the floor. She is the dark days when I can’t escape the devil’s dense smoke and don’t try either. She is the Pandora’s box of doubt and insecurities little girls are told never to open. She is the stolen kisses in the backseat of a car, the nightmares and the daydreams, the lost childhood and the forced adulthood. She is the needy girlfriend who has been through too much. She requires too much attention and she knows it. She is that girl. She is the girl who will take midnight drives just to listen to her cassette tapes, who reads nothing but Sports Illustrated magazines on airplanes as a general rule. She is the hipster who believes in everything in July, who tattoos her wrists with stardust, who wants more than anything to be found.

Please find her here.