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Say It To My Face


Being from California can spark an immediate preconceived notion upon introduction. Being from “Los Angeles” enchants a real glitzy aura hovering my existence to others.

An immediate “you are so fortunate to be from California” or “how have you not met somebody, LA breeds beautiful people” is always to follow.

Guilty at times for correlating one with his or her state national, those two phrases to be the sole proprietors to draw me astray from one that possess an LA stereotype or qualities.

My heart’s gravitational pull is to those whose values originate from a small-town, modest lifestyle. Because even though his dreams of Hollywood glamour are what is strived, the disposition of his roots are what gleam.

Could be a mixture of the two places I have had the opportunity to claim as home. My entire childhood in a fleeting, flashy environment. My four year transition into adulthood adapted to a leisurely moving, modest, wholesome town in Montana.

The point I am trying to make is that simply there are tons of physically beautiful bystanders but none that will spell the heart like that one. That who will be called mine will possess both versions of home, not just appear as so.

Sure, I have been fooled by an appearance so alluring that the insides were overshadowed. The one that incites emotional opulence to fade any exhibition of physical captivation. The one to make every failed undertaking at a friendly acquaintanceship into a thought provoking yearn for the next day.

A broken record of avoidance until we are face to face. Sometimes I drive myself crazy knowing part of “that one” still holds onto my heart but not contrarily. At least that is what I would tell myself.

Not losing, but losin’ my mind sort of bit.

It’s like what more could be expected?

Direct eye contact, framing a straight face.

A grip of both shoulders.

Move on.


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