I collect compliments like stamps. I glue them into a book I keep for my soul’s rainy days. Last night I felt ordinary so that’s what I was. I hate it when I don’t sparkle but I must remember that nothing can sparkle all the time.
We talk about boys. About the way they look at me. About the way they talk to her. We say that boys are stupid and we believe it. I’m told not to be so guarded. It’s always the boys who say this. Never the women. A woman would never tell me to relax, to take a risk. A woman knows how long it takes to piece together a broken heart. A woman knows you never find all the pieces. Boys always tell me not to be so guarded but then I hear of another woman and another broken heart and I think, How dare they tell me to relax when our hearts are always under attack?
I eat ice-cream for breakfast and noodles for lunch but not really because my appetite eludes me. Later I eat kiwis and strawberries and halva, all the while, hearing Kate Moss chant in my head. I wish for things about which I cannot write.
I listen to songs like this and they’re like injections of soul and I remember who I am. I remember my power. How to make people laugh. How to make boys want to kiss me. How to drink a room’s energy.
Last night I didn’t sparkle but that doesn’t mean I’m not always glowing.