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Rated: E · Prose · Emotional · #2155934
Prose, about the nature of daydreams and how they carry into adulthood.
I'm not a fat girl. I'm a mermaid.

When I was knee high my hair was fuzzy, I had buck teeth, and had to wear glasses.

That didn't mean a damn thing when I was in the water. When I was in the water my red highlights, a nod to my grandmother and time in the sun, became the red hair of a proper little mermaid. Under the water you can't hear the cruel or indifferent commentary of your failings. All those times people laugh at your dreams and aspirations , they can just wash away.

I'm not a fat woman. I'm a mermaid.

My hair is still fuzzy, my body always some sort of enemy.

I can still feel the waves under my skin though. Once you've stood on the shore every horizon is a promise that doesn't come in words but has a heartbeat. Maybe now there's too much fear to rush the water like some sort of careless breeze. There's weight in age and not all on the hips.

I am a mermaid.

I won't be planted in the sea. In the ground, maybe by the roses. Will the sun shine as bright, not being able to dance on the water? Will the stars whisper anything to a flower so briefly here then gone? Maybe so, maybe not. But I was a mermaid. Fearless once. A little girl who shrugged at the waves, a woman who relished the sun, a creature that never fit her skin.

I was a mermaid.
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