blonde hippie

(*Not her real name. Also not her in this stock image.)

Emma is the kind of perfect looking you know immediately on sight.

She is thin, but not skinny. Fleshy, soft, smooth skinned. “Tall for a girl.”

Her hair is long and blonde and parted down the middle. It’s cut in layers with long bangs that fall just so.

She has light colored eyes, long lashes and a pretty smile, just wide enough to not say “she has a big mouth.”

Her tattoo is something ornate and it peeks out from her shoulder and upper arm. It’s faded black without color.

She’s wearing an outfit you’d never get away with or really think of in the first place.

It’s a denim-like cropped vest paired with linen, patterned, draw string pants and brown, worn ankle cowgirl boots. The scuffs in the heels lets you know she’s had them for awhile and they’re keepers

It’s not the kind of crop top where her belly is always exposed, but meets the top line of her pants so that if she raises her arms you’d be assured she could pull this off.

She wears multiple random rings that all work together.

She is not young and she is not old. You guess 30 or 31. She carries herself with confidence, but not overly so. Just an effortless kind of cool that is neither intimidating nor lenient.

You wonder what it would feel like to be her, what it would be like to be received, approached, sought after. Surely annoying at times, but you’ve always been hung up on never being “conventionally” attractive, AKA white and light haired.

As you survey the room, you take in all of the other women. They are all so different looking even the ones that look alike. They’ve made choices about their presentation and you try to decipher what they mean. You also pick out the most attractive parts of their bodies to remind yourself that there is something downright beautiful about every single person.

You decide Emma is not as special as you first thought. Not to bring her down.

But to lift everyone else up.

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