A half smile of satisfaction as she digs for a lighter in the front pocket of her skinny jeans. Black skinny jeans that fit in all the right places, a fact not lost on her, or anyone else lucky enough to see her in them.
With her hand rolled cigarette between now pursed lips, she inhales deeply, the weight of the world on her shoulders. Feminine shoulders, lean but strong, shoulders that hold the promise of good times to be had. Shoulders that know about hard work, rewards and responsibilities and all that.
Lungs fill with poison, that delicious, delicious poison. She exhales her sigh from lungs hidden behind firm breasts and a flat stomach. A runner in another life, a yoga fiend in this one. All that stretching leads to epiphanies right and sometimes left, it’s all rather grand. Grand in the grand scheme of things, you see. She sees everything, though comments on very little. Her eyes give her away when she’s in a giving mood, and when the mood should strike, she’s pure dynamite.
She takes care of her little sister the way her mother never could. Held hands and pig tails and swing sets in the afternoon. And then the night shift at the pub. Tight shirts and short skirts, still with the pig tails, but their meaning so different this go around.
She puts on old Beatle’s records when no one’s around. Just let it be, because sometimes life isn’t fair. She’s friends with John and Paul, or she would have been in a different circumstance, a different life, and a different time. But life isn’t kind. She appreciates the reality that it’s the only life she gets and so she leaves things just slightly better than she found them. Always.
She doesn’t need a boy to be complete, but she likes them just the same. She doesn’t need you to hold her hand, or tell her that she looks pretty. She knows she’s smart, and doesn’t need you to point it out to her. She knows she’s clever and fun and rad. And beautiful in a way that deepens as you get to know her. She appreciates sincerity, and originality, and creativity. She drinks whiskey late at night on a balcony with a hand rolled cigarette overlooking the city. Her city.
She is the revolution.
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