10- Still The One

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I don't usually tell people my hobbies. Since I'm the more artistic type, there's really no way to bring it up without sounding conceited in my opinion. I do like to paint- literally anything. Old scraps of wood, dusty bed sheets, even my own skin are just a few of my known victims (it's my main motivation to shave my legs, to be honest). That's the good thing about acrylic paint, it works on almost any surface.

Life had been mundane, but luckily I hadn't been depressed as usually expected of me. Instead of sleeping through the afternoon, I kept myself busy with my acrylics when I wasn't occupied doing farm chores for my dad or watching black and white reruns of dead shows starring dead actors with my grandma.

I sat on a raggedy quilt in the middle of the field. Nobody touched the poor blanket in years, it just sat abandoned covering a mirror in the garage that hadn't reflected a person in decades. I figured no one would miss it if I borrowed it for an hour or so.

A breeze had picked up- it wasn't too hot for a summer's day in Oklahoma, so naturally I had to take advantage of the nice weather. Wisps of my loose blonde layers went wherever the wind desired. The barn was still within my line of sight, so I hadn't ventured too far. I grew tired of translating the sunflowers surrounding me onto my inner wrist, so I turned my body to paint the neighbors' flowers on my sideswept thigh. My pale blue sundress allowed for easy access to my upper legs.

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