or when you're only seen when you make a show of it.
eyeliner, mascara, concealer, dress, flats, studs, necklace, ring.
everything that made my skin crawl on any other day.
"why not try something different?" i muttered to myself.
and i realized that i was not interested in spending an hour trying to gather my bearings and appearance ever again, but when i was done, it felt worth it.
when i arrived at the bus stop, i caught a look of intrigue from one of the girls. "niiice."
on the bus, my legs stuck to the seat, and it hurt to stand, to separate my skin from the blue material.
i watched as emma's eyes went wide, her mouth spreading into a smile.
"what's with the dress?"
"you look cute!"
"whaaat?"
every one of them brought a smile to my face. it was nice, to be seen, for their eyes to not pass through me. was it because i am invisible, but the navy flower-print dress was not.
when i got home, i collapsed on my bed. feet in pain, head aching, i stared at my computer screen. i knew i needed to work, but i just . . . couldn't.
YOU ARE READING
Smart Girl
Non-Fictionthoughts from the smart girl. //the journal of wren// //highest rank #2 in non fiction// //all names of real people interacted with here are altered from their original versions for privacy's sake//
