my favorite part of the book is when the author depicts the characters with such detail that they are almost as clear as reality. i always wanted to read what it would be like for an author to describe me: my aura, my laugh, what it’s like to look me in the eyes. i thought you would like this too, so i am going to write about what it is like to be in your presence. ❤
Her thin thin hair, a blonde coffee roast with white steamed milk and streaks of caramel, is mostly straight, but catches the rays of the sun in the brightness of the morning, displaying the abundance of free and happy flyaways, simmers right to her shoulders, laying flatly around her jovial face. Her face, a cream color, decorated with wispy blonde eyebrows and mocha-colored, almond-shaped eyes to compliment the color of her hair. Her cheeks envelope her eyes when she laughs because there is hardly enough room for her huge smile. Perfect, pink, and untouched lips surround her straight white teeth, usually visible with her tendency to smile majority of the time. Her petite little self is warm and soft like Christmas Eve but explosive like a child on Christmas morning. She walks with an air of happiness. sometimes she dramatically tilts her upper body to the side of the prominent foot when she is walking, simply out of complete excitement. Sometimes she clumsily gallops through the halls when she has good news. Her laugh is loud and hearty, starting from the belly and raising to the top of her head to make a hilarious and joyful squealing sound. She does everything quick. Left hand furiously writing, sprinting down her paper like no tomorrow. throwing her belongings in her backpack, zipping it in a blur, grabbing it quick like the desk is hot. fingers tapping speedily, eyes bolting to search for the latest funny video that my life will not be complete without. breathing fast and hard like a puppy when anxiety takes its toll. Her bright and sweet innocence travels with her most of the days, like experiencing that feeling that childhood brought in just one sitting. but sometimes her eyes are tired and deep with the pain of a Pisces, who simply breathe in the feelings of the air and trap them inside, making the pain cut deeper than it cuts others. sometimes her eyes are heavy clouds, gray like the wet sky, sinking into the pit of her stomach. but she walks with a strong spine, sometimes almost too hard to bend, but stable none the less. and the sleepiness of her eyes is warm, even when watery, and will brighten up willingly like the sun through the clouds on a rainy day. And then the sadness of the air will escape like a bird from a cage and then returns the enormous, innocent smile I love. That is my friend Kristen.