When you grow up you realize how everyone always told you that you were pretty. It didn't really mean anything to you nor did those words stand out, it was just something people said. Pretty was not a concept that appealed to you or even pertained to you as a person. It wasn't anything you observed while looking into the mirror. You were just you.
As you get older it still doesn't process in your head. Everyone tells you how pretty you are, but they might have been talking about the weather for all you know.
You develop further, into those awkward teens and become so shy. Everyone tells you you're pretty but you can't even look a person in the eye while you speak with them. And the boys you like never seem to like you back, but you never blame your looks because it's not something you really notice.
People suddenly tell you that they always admired you and no matter how invisible you try to be they always tell you that they wished they looked like you, or they wished they were friends with you. Your photos receive nothing but admirable feedback. You know what angles of yourself you like and how to accentuate them. You know your strong features, you know what people might find attractive and you go with the flow and people's admiration towards you never lessens. It's strange to you that people still somehow know you exist even if you stay hidden in the corner of the room. People mention your name in conversations. They have opinions of you. And it's kind of scary to think in a way…
You get scared when men hit on you in public and you try to avoid ever being alone outdoors. Even when you're not, someone will always find a way and for some reason it's the most horrifying feeling in the world.
After you get your first boyfriend you never stay single after that. Not even once. You flow from one love into the other in hopes they will actually treat you right and won't break your heart. Because underneath the pretty they find the real you. Raw and dysfunctional. With your insecurities and instability. Suddenly the face that everyone craves becomes a familiar mound of flesh. They get used to you and it's no big deal if they hurt you. And you hurt them back because if you won't stand up for yourself no one else will. It makes you wonder what's the point of being pretty?
Eventually you find someone you admire. Someone so physically beautiful you feel that if you looked like them you would have no problems. That no one would ever want to hurt you if only you looked like that.
That's kind of fucked up isn't it?
That the thought of changing your appearance makes you feel like you suddenly will become a better person.
You wonder if you give off that air too? You wonder if someone looks at you and feels that way about you.
"If i was her i'd have my shit together. I would be alright."
In the end nothing really changes.
And the story really has no conclusion.
After all. These are just my unpolished thoughts.
(Tumblr Post: karolinanoumenon.tumblr.com/ta… )