That GirlI was the type of girl who would run through the pouring rain,
face upturned to the falling drops,
and blissfully happy.
I was the type of girl who would stand in a thunderstorm,
dark eyes large in a pale face,
rain-darkened curls plastered sopping against the skull,
and laugh at my friends who were afraid of the lightning,
of messing up their clothes and their hair and their makeup but I?
I had no such fears.
I was that type of girl.
I was the sort of girl who would dance on a dark, empty stage,
with no music, nothing but the sounds of my labored breathing
and feet pounding on the lonely floorboards.
I was the sort of girl who waltzed to a tune no one else could hear,
all alone on a rooftop at 3 in the morning,
watching the last tired dregs of the night-people trickle home,
while the early birds with their coffee and hopes of proverbial worms
yawned their way past the sad building with the shiny tin roof on their