Written In The Stars •editing•

I looked into the mirror.

Back straight, make up lightly done, with eyeliner each eye to higlight my eyes and hair falling gently down my shoulders and then free-falls down my back, most angels have golden hair, blonde even, which is radient and shines in the light; not me. Unmistable in a room, mine is an undyable natural coal black, with light silver eyes, that sometimes turn clear, or black. I am different. almost human in my discomfort of it. Supposedly not ugly, but not the typical angel hovering up in the sky, not exactly minding there own business.I like the night; what lurks there, underneath clouds, leaves and twigs and deep in the mysterious ocean that has no conceivable bounds, the stars and the barely blue night sky. These things make me feel at home.

When was young, I was taught to make the world my oyster. My mother and I looked up at the stars shining down at us and I felt at piece. Happy.

He does not make me feel that way at all; the complete opposite actually.

NOT the devilishly handsome, sly toungued almost - greek god, right? NOT the guy you hoped to never see again after the first moment you met him, not the guy that drives your heart and mind into an almost massacre inducing frenzy, not the guy that couldn't get his head out of his arse if he wanted to (which he doesn't), the guy that doesn't give a shit.

So of all the things I could have done, was running away into the safety of the night the best idea?