The girl who proves.

I want to be the girl who sees beauty the way it should be. Who laughs in tune with the rustling leaves on the tallest treetops like an unstructured harmony of careless whispers. Who, on rainy days, views soaked street-children as badly behaved cupids fallen fom grace, with premolar teeth and malleable bones. Who knows how to search for deeper, concealed meanings in things that are utterly dejected, and thus rejected; to prove that beauty doesn’t always necessarily comes from something pretty.

I want to be the girl who’s willing to befriend pain, angst, heartbreaks, regrets, sadness, errors, and thousands of other emotions that humans tend to leave untouched, discarded. Who deals with them face to face, runs them through her veins like a shot of morphine, truly inhaling the sensations as they sink deep like rain soaking into the dry earth. Who isn’t scared of facing the absurd, cruel, backstabbing reality and be dissapointed over and over again; to prove that the reason we fall down is so we can learn to pick ourselves up.

I want to be the girl who’s able to stand tough on the ground when all else falls away. Who is not afraid of being herself, even if it means being different, or being labeled as different. Who lives life distinctively, significantly, separated from the typicals, the trivials, and the cliches; to prove that rocks stay unharmed because they’re not easily swept by the wind.

I want to be the girl whose perspectives are crystal-clear and unbiased. Whose strong believes exceeds others’ expectations, yet whose enduring tolerance overcome those with dim wits and narrow minds. Who’s able to distinguish, without judging, good from evil, right from wrong, winners from losers, the mended from the broken; to prove that naive judgments only lead to multiple fragments of misunderstandings.

I want to be the girl who accepts challenges with wide open arms and dares to venture into the wild unknown. Who’s willing to combat oncoming obstacles till her last crimson drop of blood, even when there’s only a small chance of victory. Who feels the sudden urge to climb up the highest mountain only to stand at the edge of the cliff, face the world below, and shout as loud as possible till her lungs shrink, muscles disjointed, nerves numbed down, and blood exasperated with thrilled excitements; to prove that nothing is impossible.