Some days I like to imagine I’m in some epically grandiose English tale.
A tale where the heroine is too smart, and too lonesome in her imaginings to be understood. A handsome tale of a man who sees through the tiresome gossip of the people in the small minded village and falls for her. But it’s a meeting of souls, not just of a damsel in distress. For she’s not in distress. She’s fine and happy in her solitude and doesn’t want the intrusion of someone just for the mere presence of ‘someone.’
Sometimes I like to think that I’m that heroine. Special and destined for something greater.
But I’m not. And that’s okay. We can’t all be Einstein, or Monroe, or Ghandi. Some of us pass into and out of this mortal coil unnoticed except by those nearest to us. And that’s okay as long as you left love, kindness, and a little more than you took.
Dress – Threadsence *now closed*
Jacket – Zara *old*
Boots – Matisse Footwear *old*
Necklace – gift from Poland