Her eyes are made up too. Big eyes, dark lips. You watch her flip her short hair. Everything about her is small, you decide – she’s her hair, her skirt. She’s short. Petite. Eventually you hear her voice. She speaks too loudly, she swears far too much. You’re intrigued. You walk over.
In three months I will never be responsible for homework. Ever. Again. No one is going to ask me to write a 10-12 page paper discussing the themes of isolation in Romeo & Juliet. Or to read 37 pages on Faulkner.
It will just be like any other day. I’d be going on with my own business as you’d go on with yours. We’d both be busy focusing on our own lives, being our candid effortless selves that we don’t realize something magical is about to happen.
I want a tragedy so heartbreakingly beautiful that I could spend a lifetime writing about it. See, this life is short. And a love that is just mediocre will never be enough for me.
Though self-reflection is natural after ending any relationship, this one helped me realize that I am a modern girl who is proud of her intellect, who will always ask questions, and who can drink a bourbon without the approval of a man.