Of course, I’m not really a goddess. I am, however, somewhat demented; hence, the Aphrodite complex.
I’m 27 years old, yet I still refer to myself as a girl. I still gush over rainbows and butterflies, but only to myself. I still swing my feet when I sit and my heels don't touch the ground.
I subsist on a diet of cheesecake and kisses and my fingernails and onions. My world revolves around words – words spoken, words written, words yet unspoken and unwritten. I thrive on laughter - lots of it - and equally, tears.
I’m excessively polite, but it’s a force of habit, so I don’t necessarily mean it. I wish I could think less, but then, I wish I won’t.
In my dreams, my eyes are green, and I know kung-fu. I find bliss in the way my man smells and the feel of sand between my toes. I wander, and as long as I live, I’ll always be headed somewhere.
There are a lot of things I’m afraid of, and even more that I believe in. My cynicism helps me survive. That, and the unshakable belief that love, as promised, will indeed conquer all.
