Writing

On Vanity.

If you asked me outright, I’d probably tell you that I wasn’t vain.

But the fact of the matter is, I am.

I love the coloring of my hair, it’s brown cascades with blonde and reddish strands. The way it shines and grows so long when others struggle to make it grow past their chin.

I like having blue eyes, the color of the sky. (Though sometimes green is an envious color)

I’m vain about being smaller, when others struggle for being so big.

I like the fact that I can write, pictures conjured up with words. I like that I can do the opposite-only with pictures.

I wouldn’t tell you that I was vain, but sometimes I am in the darkness of my life, the place where no one else will go.

I am vain, but you’d probably shatter my vanity with shame if you ever heard me tell.

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