the style aviator: sacred woman

So, hi. I'm in a really good mood today even though all the world's tears are coming down on my window (why, rain? WHY?) and it's cold outside. On the train, someone next to me said that each raindrop "represents every tacky outfit that the world has ever seen." I got to go to Capezio for the first time today and silently sob at how beautiful all of the dancewear/shoes were. I touched pointe shoes for the first time and spent about half an hour just staring at them until one of the workers gave me a really strange look. Anyway. Back to the present.

This post is really exciting to write, and I'm going to take advantage of that and make it as long as it needs to be because filters are for Instagram (HAHAHA SEE WHAT I DID THERE? No? Okay.) and I am tired of feeling like I cannot say what I want to say. So, yes, BEHOLD the magic that exists in a small corner of my brain where I keep quotes from Heathers.

Every once in a while, there comes along a mystical woman in my life whose presence I cannot explain. It doesn't matter whether or not she's famous or not. I may never speak to her, or really know her. It could be a picture in a subway or a girl at school or a character in a movie, but nevertheless, she is there, and I cannot deny her being there; it is like she has her very own atmosphere, her very own axis on which she spins, ignoring whatever anyone else says. She is not a manic pixie dream girl, because manic pixie dream girls are ideals. No, she is self aware and refuses to be held down by any romanticists who happen to slip into her orbit. She is a gold dust woman. She is not Cleopatra, not Helen of Troy, not Holly Golightly. She is not yours; you cannot have her, not now, not ever. She is in all of our lives; that is the one thing about her that we are sure of.

She does not seek attention; she does not try to be quirky or anything like that, really. In fact, she may even blend in. But there is one person who sees her as more than that.