OurLadyCaliginosity

I am not the kind of girl a guy marries. I am the type he falls deeply and suddenly in love with, without warning. I am a dream, an everything-he's-ever-wanted. I am his forever. I am "different from all the others" and I am every one's "soulmate". Fun, freedom, and forests, I am studied and worshipped. I am clung to and provided for, and I am needed. He will make plans. But, I am not the kind of girl a guy marries. I am the kind that sleeps in trees, that craves the ocean, and dances under the moon. I am the type that cries in her sleep. I am the girl that feels music and words with her entire body. I will seek you out in the early hours

As a lump rises dangerously close to that tear-release switch that must be located in the middle of each our throats, my mother's tears tumble. Potential. The word drifts, swelling my mother's pride then, jabbing at her disappointment gland as unreached is tagged onto the beginning. Unmotivated. The guidance counselor suggests, raising the subject for agreement to the others. One nods. My mother is astonished, assuming her life as motivation itself. Her lack of opportunities and her surplus of bad luck as kicks in my butt towards a better future. She's not being challenged. The photo teacher shakes her head. What motivation that does light