Dear Jane

It would be just like a romance movie to restore my faith in the world.
And destroy it.
I was finding the little pieces of Sara again that I missed. The girl who delved into novels in the middle of the night, the girl who wore breezy dresses dancing in the sunlight, the girl who dreamed of so much more.
The girl with dreams.
I found enjoyment in simple things. Simple thoughts.
It was easy to slip into complacency when you thought your world was perfect, when in fact, it really wasn't.
I thought about travel, I thought about learning, I thought about cooking, I thought about reading, I thought about writing, I thought about creating, I thought about photography, I thought about love.
I wanted to someone to see that.
I wanted someone to see me in my sloppy ponytail, the look that made me think I was a sloppy biologist more than ever, in a pretty, kind of carefully chaotic way.
Someone who was perfect in imperfection.
I definitely tended to play up the earthy intellect in my style sometimes.
Not to the point of hippie (although I've been accused of such) but to the point of tragically beautiful scientist type way.
Maybe I was taking liberty with my looks.
But today, looking at the strands fall around my face out of my poinytail, it didn't feel that way. It felt carefully staged in all it's misdirection.
I felt real and I felt beautiful.