Confessions of a 5'1"

There's this girl. I'd like to say who she is, but that would make this difficult for me to write. So there's this girl.

She's pretty typical, enjoys shopping, eating sweets and worries about needless things. She delights in cute and cuddly creatures, soft pillows and colors. On weekends she likes to snuggle under the blankets until noon when the day is most alive. She cares for her hair like a second pet next to her cat that keeps her company when she sleeps and painting her nails different colors makes her jubilant. Happy is her goal.

But she has this problem. She tends to set herself up for disappointment. Her daydreams drift too far and she loses her stability. She makes herself believe in things that won't come true but convinces herself until the very last day and very last moment that it would happen. And when it doesn't, she's crushed. She'll sulk, and she'll mope. She'll cry, and when she cries-she cries. Then, as if it had never happened she'll do it all over again with a smile.

Repeat.

That is the awful life of a girl, naive and dumb.
A girl I suppose I could now call me.