||[Feb. 9th, 2004|09:48 pm]
the living dolls
I have always wanted to remain eight years old inside my heart, and to physically go back to that time in a way I could appreciate it in ways that I couldn't until my body matured and grew into a woman's body.
I've cried and I've cried forever to be light, to be so light that my daddy could pick me up again, so light that a pillow case would half-support me if I were to fall from a great height. I was never a thin girl, but even when I was a very young girl I thought that my dolls were more beautiful than I was. I never loved Barbies, but instead, I had fragile, dark haired, porcelain dolls to hold and touch. I watched pretty animated girls float across the screen with unparalelled grace and smallness.. as I grew, and became more intune with beauty, I came to realize that I was not a doll.
And that the world was an unbeautiful place.
Small, fey creatures are in a world of their own, and I desperately want to become one of them.. and be in a fairytale.
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