She sat alone, quietly, far in the back of the dusty library. The table around her was piled with books. The Host; The Amulet of Samarkand; Unexplained Events of the 1900s; The Dictionary of Dreams- they're scattered across the surface of the table, along with binders and notebooks.
Her wild hair is a mass of untamed, tangled curls, her eyes narrowed over her work.
A fiction, the words whispered softly as she tests out their sounds. Lists of names lay on scattered pieces of paper, half of them scratched out by different colors of ink.
I'm about five and a half feet tall, weigh close to two hundred and thirty pounds.
I'm a size eighteen.
I've got small feet and long legs. My hair is naturally brown.
My bottom lip is pierced on the left side, twice.
I'm a writer, unpublished and hoping for the best. I come from an abusive home.
I could sit here all night, listing pieces of myself to be seen and reviewed as if I'm typing up a job application.
If I was, I would say that I'm a fangirl, an outright geek. I would describe my personal philosophy as being like the Doctor- violence is a last resort and I've never met anyone that wasn't important.
Like The Host, I believe that it's not the face, but the expressions on it- not the voice, but the words chosen and now the body, but the actions taken.
I believe that sometimes, a hero is found in the most unlikely of places and that just because it's in your head, doesn't mean it isn't real.
I'm a wiccan, although sometimes my religious beliefs drift closer to athiestic satanist.
I would point out that I have been broken- by family, by exes, by friends but that I believe I've arranged the pieces into something almost pretty, regardless.
I would say for all of my stubbornness- all of the sleepless nights spent cussing in my living room because this page, or word, or character or plot will not work out the way I need it to; all of the cups of coffee half drunk because I need the caffiene but damn, I've run out of sugar somehow; the books read halfway and then discarded because I know the part coming up is going to hurt and there's enough hurt in my own work already- for all of my unweavering loyalty and deceptive cunning, I still have moments where I am sweet.
For all of my darkness, I still remember what light tastes like.
And I'm looking for someone that can look into my darkness and smile, knowing she is safe from the monsters inside.
|Location||Rockmart, Georgia, United States of America|
|Height||5.8" (173 cm)|
Artistic Flexible Flirtatious Intellectual Loving Low Maintenance Open Minded Practical Quiet Romantic Serious Spiritual Spontaneous Stubborn
Someone that likes to read- that can look at the printed word and enjoy the worlds unfolding before her. I want a girl that dances with demons- that is unafraid of darkness.
I need someone that's smart and, if they don't enjoy my common forays into the hazy realms of fiction, at least will stand there, watching, amused as I try to prove that if angels and demons exist, so must werewolves and vampires.
More than that, I want love. I want that connection that, whether it's fire or sparks or a feeling of finally being rooted, screams that you have found your other half.
And any friends along the way are more than welcomed. :)
Friendship Relationship Chat Workout Partner Casual Other Activities
|Aged between||19 - 30|
Lifestyle detailsLifestyle details
|Diet||I eat everything|
Arts and Crafts Computers Cooking DIY Dramatics Drawing Movies Music Reading Surfing the Web Video Games Walking Writing
Country Garage Grunge Indie Metal Pop Rock
Jogging Martial Arts Walking Yoga