More and more I'm getting the feeling that over the past few days I've been talking to a female version of myself. And I'm not talking about any alter-ego either. She's another person... only she's like me.
She's a writer.
She bites her nails.
She's sensitive about touch - not afraid, just sensitive.
She's quiet.
She doesn't take great initiative.
She appears happy while quietly berating herself for being different.
She just has that way of looking at things. This in particular I've found in so few...
I could go on. But you get the idea.
I'm not sure what, if anything, it means. In a way she reminds me of myself as I used to be, before I discovered my confidence. Maybe it's my purpose to lead her to where I am now. Maybe it's my job to lift her up as she lifts me up. Maybe I should invite her to the Christian group at our school; God knows if not for religion I wouldn't be here now. (Hehe... kind of like wordplay there.) Or maybe we both just need an anchor.
When my arm is around her waist the top of my hand brushes the bottom of her breast. I don't care. Maybe that's a bad thing; it kind of puts my sexuality in question when I'm not attracted to anyone at all. I wonder if she noticed. I wonder if she cared. I wonder what I want the answer to be.
I still can't get over how my Civics project ended up being 110 pages long.
Nor, I suspect, can my Civics teacher.
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