You'll never be anything.
You're nothing.
The alpaca wool scarf was arranged carefully on the mannequin in the corner of the apartment. The green and navy fibers blended together in an ombre transition.
Kendra would have paired it with a modest but quirky ensemble with mixed patterns and modeled it herself but she remembered her friend's opposition.
"I'm sorry, but no one dresses like that…"
Kendra was testing the waters by offering a photo. If she was unsure whether to share her dream before, she definitely wouldn't now.
'I want to become a fashion influencer and sell clothes in an online thrift store,' she wrote in her journal.
You'll never be anything.
She stared at the mannequin as if it would help her and share some wisdom. She wasn't the brave type who took risks and reached for the stars. Besides, she was cursed.
Kendra was a straight C student in school, had flunked out of college and made her living as a coffee barista with two roommates.
She failed at everything except foam trees in lattes and she was fine with it. Relationships were no exception. At thirty years old, she switched from contentedly single to desperately lonely on an hour by hour basis.
But when she closed her eyes, her vision came alive with textures, fabrics, aesthetics, and poses. Aisles of clothes called to her and hand made fabrics often whispered to her. If she lived in a world where one more failure, one more deferred dream couldn't happen, she knew she'd be sharing her style with the world.
But when your world was younger, your own mother said
Beep beep beep! Beep beep beep!
The alarm blared. The coffee was not going to make itself.
She stopped, however, to admire the alpaca wool scarf. For now, it didn't matter that she'd be the only one admiring it. It warmed the part of her she thought had died long ago, that naively clung to the belief that anything was possible, no matter what was spoken over her.
You're nothing.
The alpaca wool scarf was arranged carefully on the mannequin in the corner of the apartment. The green and navy fibers blended together in an ombre transition.
Kendra would have paired it with a modest but quirky ensemble with mixed patterns and modeled it herself but she remembered her friend's opposition.
"I'm sorry, but no one dresses like that…"
Kendra was testing the waters by offering a photo. If she was unsure whether to share her dream before, she definitely wouldn't now.
'I want to become a fashion influencer and sell clothes in an online thrift store,' she wrote in her journal.
You'll never be anything.
She stared at the mannequin as if it would help her and share some wisdom. She wasn't the brave type who took risks and reached for the stars. Besides, she was cursed.
Kendra was a straight C student in school, had flunked out of college and made her living as a coffee barista with two roommates.
She failed at everything except foam trees in lattes and she was fine with it. Relationships were no exception. At thirty years old, she switched from contentedly single to desperately lonely on an hour by hour basis.
But when she closed her eyes, her vision came alive with textures, fabrics, aesthetics, and poses. Aisles of clothes called to her and hand made fabrics often whispered to her. If she lived in a world where one more failure, one more deferred dream couldn't happen, she knew she'd be sharing her style with the world.
But when your world was younger, your own mother said
Beep beep beep! Beep beep beep!
The alarm blared. The coffee was not going to make itself.
She stopped, however, to admire the alpaca wool scarf. For now, it didn't matter that she'd be the only one admiring it. It warmed the part of her she thought had died long ago, that naively clung to the belief that anything was possible, no matter what was spoken over her.
