So you’re lonely. You get coffee by yourself. You check your horoscope to try and see if it’s a good day for finding love. If it’s a love day you put on your shiniest lip gloss and hope for the best. When love doesn’t show up you drink your coffee alone and patiently wait for the stars to align again.
You think about why you’re shy, and how it seems to come so easily for other people and why you have to be the one with the racing heart when you’re surrounded by a group of new faces. You wonder how certain people seem to wind up with so many Facebook friends and if they really know all 897 of them personally. Books keep you company which is more than enough most of the time but you’re human and at times you dream of more.
Sometimes you feel ordinary. There isn’t much that sets you apart and you feel like you blend in too well with the sea of souls living normal lives who all have egg timers waiting to go off inside their hearts. You feel like you’ve wasted too much time to do what you thought you wanted to do and at the same time what you thought you wanted wasn’t what you really wanted at all and it wasn’t who you were. You feel like you need to reinvent yourself but you’re not sure how and that Goddamn clock is always ticking.
Sometimes you don’t want to be you anymore. Sometimes you think you’re smart but sometimes you think you’re dumb which is why you sometimes think you’re ordinary. Never feeling like you actually know who you are makes you wish for a reset button. You want to change everything but at the same time you wouldn’t change a thing.
You like your nose but you hate your thighs and your boobs are fine but they could always be bigger. You’re never sure if you’re good enough but you make an effort to remind yourself that you’ve been brainwashed by the soulless airbrushed bodies of the beauty magazines that you can’t get out of your head sometimes. You still buy Cosmo anyway and you’re not sure why.
Sometimes you wonder if you’re insane. You’re not sure if you mind, either.
So you’re lonely. You get coffee by yourself. You stare at the barista that you’ve decided that you’re in love with and you make up his persona in your head and mold him into the version of the boy that you think that you need in order to make you feel whole. You create a story and project the idea of what you want onto to the boy pulling the espresso shots. The indie movie fantasy comes to life in your head and you imagine yourself as a braver person. The imaginary boy makes eye contact with you and you look away as fast you can.
Who I am? I’m her.