I am the comfort girl.
I am pacifying, relaxing. The girl that melts you.
I am pure enough to cleanse you, young enough to make you smile.
I am forgetting. I am escape.
I am the rock. I am always here, always loving.
I am the Monday girl.
I am where your thoughts return to after Saturday’s bed sheets and Sunday morning’s regrets.
I am your childhood.
I am no regrets. I am innocence.
I am forgiveness.
I am happiness. I am laughter.
I am love.
I am waiting.
I am here when the Friday girl becomes a forgotten face.
I am here when the Saturday girl evaporates in the street.
I am here when the Sunday morning girl dresses in last night’s skirt and this morning’s regret.
I am here.
I am here.
“Be like, ‘those little frat boys can suck my twat, I like a man who can feel his way around!”
Me, on why Sara should draw a tentacle man for her figure and fabric drawing class.
“Prove to me that you’re not perfect.”
“Um, I have over fifty moles.”
“And I love every one of them.”
“Even the awkward one on my forehead?”
“Especially that one.”