unedited
She troubled herself with pretty things, forgot about the rest. She is not the mosaic of heroines as you suspect and as people applaud: she is too hasty, too young, too imperfect. She is disappointing yet fascinating. Kind but laced with insecurity. People convinced themselves that they knew her, could read her like an open book and see through her constant widened eyes and swim in her tears until dry but each time they think they’ve mastered her ambiguity, they had to acquaint themselves with someone new. And then she was loved, more than any preconceived notions and more than first, second and third impressions she brought upon them, she was more a rough draft, than anything. She was more a rough draft than the real thing and people loved her, because there is something touching about a first draft.
I am but a rough draft.
