remember bedsheets, not faces
by: october lies (april 7th, 2009, 11:19am)
this will become a series. i'll bitch about people without matching their looks or names.
cause i think that the one person who i won't mind understanding all this
is the one girl who won't need names or looks to know exactly who i am talking about.
"it was like, "uh, could you like, get off of him or something?" i mean, come on."
- my friends are great, movies are great.
Her skin was golden tan from days spent letting the sun roam her body as if it were a seventeen year old boy. Her opaline blue eyes stared through everyone without pause and matched the way her body roamed in and around. Her voice was rough and full, buried deep in her throat just as her heart was resting between her lungs for support. A brunette since ninth grade, her long and free hair met her spine halfway down, tickling her back and getting caught in fingers. The white, t-shirt bedsheets went from ironed to wrinkled in minutes, her fingernails tearing tell-tale holes and severing ties.
And god, she knew they all hated her. But none of them that she hated them.
imaginary girl. but at the same time, everyone knows her. the slut. the one who everyone takes advantage of. the girl who falls into bad situations.