There's one side of me that likes doing my hair and putting mascara on. The side that takes pleasure in really smooth legs and orange scented lotion to put on them. The part that sometimes wonders what it would be like to be blonde. Who swoons over Justin Timberlake. Who giggles with her friends when the football players walk by. The girl who uses like way too much. Who gossips about other girls. Who reads Cosmopolitain (not Cosmo girl) and Seventeen. Who goes to the gym. Who buys pink underwear at Victoria's Secret.
Then there's the side that listens to Radiohead and Led Zeppelin. That looks at contemporary art magazines. That has a mad desire to photograph everything beautiful. That writes about eyeballs exploding from lost cabin pressure. The side that reads for hours upoun hours. Who somehow writes more than that. Who lusts after black haired boys in aprons, eyeliner, and fishnets at Rocky Horror shows. Who watches dirty anime (which is like all anime) and reads mangas. Who has read every fiction ever featured in the New Yorker for the past two years. Who buys black lacy underwear at Victoria's Secret.
Am I one person at one time and then another seperately? Or is two halves in a whole.
"You're one of my favorite people, Cal." I said, looking up through my lashes at him.
"You're my favorite people too," he smiled, "cuz you're so many different people."