a Piece of Art
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I was twelve years old the first time I saw Parker Wells. I was fighting with my earring to put it in its place in my ear in front of my mirror; a look of sadness possessed my features, thinking about every thing that was wrong with my face and the few possibilities I had to fix none of them.
His face appeared in the little reflection. Through the window behind me, I could see his house and his car beside it. He was in the drivers seat and I could hear the truck's noise. He looked grown up, and I was a just a girl. He was looking at me intently anyway. I never thought you could long for someone that bad just by a look. I sadly never saw him again, but I dreamt of him every night. Maybe, if I'm lucky, he'll be my prince and save me.
After six years, I got tired of waiting. If he won't show up, I'll be my own prince. I'll save myself.
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