A doll, like one of those models in my mother's magazines, she was beautiful. Her hair a golden color, like crushed lemon on sun. I was born to follow in anticipation. My jealousy would one day engulf me, suffocate me, and I would die. Green and cold, beneath the grass, never achieving, never smiling, never knowing I was beautiful. I became aware of the fluff of my hips at sixteen. Awaken: a winged umbrella, an arm, my hip soaked with the beginning of the end.
I think I posted about something of Emily's last week, too; but I liked this so much that I had to give some feedback. The clast two sentences are freakin AWESOME and should go much further, in my opinion. I also love the line "like crushed lemon on sun." Beautiful. This piece as a whole is beautiful, though. Emily uses soft and sweet language to discuss an unhappy topic. The way I read is that the blonde girl is potentially a sister that the narrator is jealous of and eventually dies (suicide?). So sad...but love the way this is written. My only criticism is that it should be longer!! :)
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