Seven

Sometimes I think that I want to be myself. Other times, most of the time, actually… I think that I want to be Mandy. Mandy. The girl who jumps into people’s arms, the girl who can paint for hours on end, without a goal in the world, and ends up with something that touches hearts. Mandy loves, not only the people she knows, but that girl she saw at the bus stop the other day, the one trying so hard not to get her hair wet in the pouring rain, and the man reading the newspaper in the corner shop.
I love Mandy, I love when she writes bad poetry, and when she is so in love with a song she asks random people to listen to it with her. Just so she knows that she’s not the only one who can love, passionately love, a song.
If I could be Mandy forever, and not just when I’m so deliriously unhappy I want to cheer up other people, I think that’s when I would stop loving her.
Mandy kisses softly and has a shy, but daring look in her eyes.
She is beautiful… But it’s the anticipation, and the complete lack of knowing when she’ll flirt dangerously into my life, that’s the real thrill.

Mandy writes every Thursday. You can contact her via the comments below.