All about me

Now my journal (simple, black, moleskin) focuses entitely on my purpose: sketches, notes and the details of the vision, especialy when they involve the mysterious boy. He constantly lingers at the edges of my mind--except for those disorienting moments when he moves blindingly to center stage.

I grow to know him through his shape in my mind's eye. I know the sweep of his broad shoulders, his carefully dishevelled hair, which is a dark, warm brown, long enough to cover his ears and brush against his collar in the back. He keep his hands tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, which is kind fuzzy, I notice, maybe fleece. His weight is always shifted slightly to one side, as if he's getting ready to walk away. He looks lean, but strong. When he begins to turn I can see the faintest outline of his check, and it never fails to make my heart beat faster and my breath hitch in my throat.

What will he think of me? I wonder.

I want to be awe-inspiring. When I appear to him in the forest, when he finally turns and sees me standing there, I want to atleast look the part of an angel. I want to be all glowy and floaty like my mum. I'm not bad looking, I know. Angel-blood are fairly attractive bunch. I have good skin and my lips are naturally rosy so I never wear anything but gloss. I have very nice knees, or so I'm told. But I'm too tall and too skinny, and not in the willowy supermodel sort of way but in a storklike, all arms and legs sort of way. And my eyes, which come across as storm cloud grey in some lights and gunmetal blue in others, seem a bit too big for my face.

My hair is my best feature, long and wavy, bright gold with a hint of red, trailing behind me wherever I go like an afterthought. The problem with my hair is that it's also completely unruly. It tangles. It catches in things: zippers, car doors, food. Tying it back or braiding it never works, it's like living thing trying to break free. Within moments of wrestling it down , there are strands in my face, and within the span of an hour it usually slides ouy of its confines completely. It takes the word unmanageable to a whole new level.

So with my luck, I'll never make it in time to save the boy in the forest because my hair will snagged on a tree branch a mile back. ..