I’m not pretty. I tend to see other girls and wish I was them. I say “now that’s beauty” to myself. And I never did know what he saw in me. He made me want to lay my head down often with his evil words. But, somehow, by some miracle, I’m still alive.
I often think about what happens after I die. Life feels so long, but it’s not. It’s actually fast. What will happen to my depressed soul after I die? I really don’t want to know. I’m not afraid of dying, well maybe a little. I think about those people who “give up”. The ones that lose the battle to cancer. How can you just give up? Why not try harder to fight? But I don’t know what’s it’s like and I pray to God that I never do or that my kids never do. I wonder if I am the only one who thinks about this because no one ever talks about it. I look in my daughters eyes and see a world full of life. She’s special, I know she’s going to do something big one day and I won’t take an ounce of credit for it. She’s not mine, I’m not mine. I just hope she doesn’t make the mistakes I made. Like trusting to easily.
Vivre Sa Vie, Jean-Luc Godard, 1962
The French manage to make everything sexy.
This is what people say about me