All Desires (Love Song Part 3)

Somewhere inside the wind, our hands tangled, and we walked through the side streets of the neighborhood toward my house. It felt like a bubble surrounded us, keeping at bay the traffic and the chatter from other pedestrians clearing the parade.

Jared's voice darted in and out of my senses like a drug, sewing me into a strange shape with its needle.

We found my treehouse, and he pulled me up the ladder.

"It's smaller than I remember it being," he laughed, ducking his head to keep from bumping it on the frame. "It's been a while."

"I haven't been up here since..." Since he left. I gaped. The little room was filled with stacks of books. "How did these get here?"

A smile played around his lips. "I brought them last night. I couldn't wait to see you, but I had a dress rehearsal." He rolled his eyes. "I promised myself first thing after the parade I'd bring you here."

I stared at the titles. Books on poetry, a few English history tomes, some music theory, but mostly fiction novels I hadn't read. He read so fast I could never keep up with him, but I loved fantasy the same as he did. Most afternoons we spent dissecting characters the way we dissected frogs in biology. "Guess I have a lot of catch-up to do."

He stretched out his legs against the far wall and held up a piece of chalk. "Tell me when," he said.

He sketched words onto the plywood floor.

Blushing rose petals

unfold their silken whispers

and sing of summer

"I don't recognize that haiku," I admitted.

He grinned sheepishly. "That's because I just wrote that one. But try this."

Mom's bright green blender

grinds two-week-old leftovers

for our picnic pie

I burst out laughing. "Sixth grade. Ms. Branch failed you because you didn't mention a season."

He shrugged. "I went back to her with a two page essay on why I deserved a pass. I explained how my mom only cooked when we were in school. Picnics only happen in the summer, anyway. She gave it to me."

I shook my head. "Always getting what you want."

He stretched out an arm, growing serious, and I moved toward him. "Do I? Or is it because I do what it takes to win? Sometimes I don't know, Med. You always could see clearly. I need you to clear the air for me."

I sat beside him and leaned my head on his shoulder. He felt so good. Familiar, safe, comfortable. "I'm not so sure I can help you with that," I sighed. "You blind me."

"Are you really blind?" he teased, "or just under a spell?"

"Under your spell."

I unclenched a hand I hadn't been able to relax until now, and a smashed, feathery glob of vegetation fell onto my dress. I stared at it, and the bubble of content popped. A great cracking sound ripped through the air, along with a shattering roar on the roof of the treehouse. I place my hands to my ears and screamed.  

Outside, through the tumult, I could hear a voice calling me. Mark was yelling. "Med, Med," he sounded strangled. "Help me, Med."

An arm wrapped around me and shook me back and forth. I raised my eyes, feeling glazed. Jared's brown irises were worried, and fear was written all over his face.

"What did you do?" I whispered.

"Are you okay?" Jared asked. I could barely hear him through the noise. "We're safe, I'm here."

"We're safe," I said, my voice rising, "but he isn't. What did you do to Mark?" I shook Jared's shirt and pounded my fists into his chest.

"Nothing." He grabbed at my wrists. "I did nothing to him except sing that song. You're the one who came with me, you said good-bye."

I shook my head and quickly, he stooped to the floor. He stood, and inside his hand lay the purple flower Mark had tucked behind my ear, smashed beyond beauty.

"Whatever happened out there," he said grimly, "wasn't because of me. That was you."

___
Come back next week for Part 4 :). Or read Part 1 and Part 2 here. And remember to check out Suzanne Warr's blog hop for more flash fiction!

All Winds (Love Song Part 2)

"Jared," I pulled away. "I can't."

His eyes studied mine and seemed to spot the figure reflected in them. He smiled. "Come on. Let's lead him for a ride."

I cried out, exasperated. "That's not how you break things off with a guy, you hippopotamus."

He grinned at our old term for when the other was acting particularly dense. I always screwed up hippopotamus and ignoramus. "He'll get the message," he said.

"No," I said. "Give me five minutes."

"Five, then," he shrugged.

The thing was, I thought along the incredibly awkward stroll toward my boyfriend, was that I liked my boyfriend. He was funny, and good to talk to, and picked me flowers off the side of the road. I wasn't looking to break things off.

Jared might have been my best friend, but then he... moved on. He always was intended for bigger things. And I didn't mope around like a soap opera diva, I healed.

At least, I thought I had, until Jared's whirlwind tugged off the bandage. What did it look like underneath, after all this time? Was it oozing? Had he ripped the scar clean off? Or was it pink and shiny with someone else's name sharpied on it? I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

Mark was holding a little purple daisy. I swallowed. This really wasn't fair.

"So, um, hi," I said.

He handed me the flower and our fingers touched. I raised mine to tuck my hair behind my ears. "That's Jared," I said.

He nodded. "I know."

"You know?" I gaped.

"He is kind of famous," he half-smiled. "I have some of his songs on my iPod."

"Well, I didn't know," I grumbled.

"Only for the last six months or so. He rose up fast. Don't have that song, though." He raised his hand to the back of his rusty neck.

"It was a warning, Mark."

"Or a challenge," he shrugged. "Are we over, then?"

Unable to say yes, I hesitated, and a sweet expression filled his eyes.  "We're not," he said.

"I just don't know, it's all kind of fast," my voice rose at the end. "He came back for me."

"Back? Were you ever his?" he asked.

An image burned my mind of Jared and I riding out a howling storm in my treehouse because I'd lost my house key at gymnastics. Jared smiled at the roar but wrapped his warm arm around me anyway.

I nodded. "He left without telling me anything, but you have to take his warning seriously, Mark. He can do things." As though I'd spoken a charm, a wind swirled at my feet.

"Things like..."

I told him about my cat. And the dead bugs he'd resurrect to feed his lizard, and the tails that grew back overnight. By the end, my hair was whipping around my face. I glanced behind me. Jared was at the apex of a crowd of schoolmates who were held back by some invisible barrier. His dark eyes watched me.

"I'd better go," I said.

"You're going to let him take you, then, just like that?" Mark said.

"I don't want you to get hurt," I protested.

He squared his shoulders. "It's not about getting hurt. He's trying to steal my girlfriend."

Trust his ego to make things complicated. It was another reason I liked Mark, he knew where to draw the line.

Jared's song pierced my mind. You fly, waltzing like fireflies.

I shook my head and with one hand grabbed my hair into a ponytail, and with the other, handed Mark back his flower. "Listen to the song. You have to believe me."

"You're going to ditch me the way he ditched you, then. Two wrongs don't make a right, Med."

My voice rose to a scary pitch, sounding almost like the wind. "I don't know what I think."

He nodded, a new smile I'd never seen crossing his lips. "I'll be hanging around til you do, then." He tucked the purple flower behind my ear.

He raised a hand to the boy behind me, stuck his hands into his pockets, and turned his back on the whirlwind.

___
The last story just begged to be turned into something more, so I hope you don't mind that for the next few weeks, I'm going to play out Jared's love song. Very exciting details coming up :).  Reread Part 1 here, and for more awesome flash fiction, check out Suzanne Warr's blog hop.

Love Song

Jared was the prettiest rose on the float, his dark bangs falling across his forehead as he glanced at his guitar, his fingers picking out a melting progression, the grin claiming his brown eyes as he looked... and found... me.

Mark tugged me close. "You see those costumes, Med?" he asked. "You want to be up there on that float?"

"Sure," I moved closer to the colossal bouquet of roses on wheels.

"I didn't mean it," he laughed.

The brown eyes shifted seasons as they saw the arm wrapped around me, the thumb stroking my arm. I hadn't told him about Mark. I hadn't had a chance to tell him, much less break things off. Mark thought I was his.

I raised my hands, pleading for the boy on the float to understand. He'd disappeared two summers ago. How did I know he'd come back? Our reunion a few hours ago was insane but sweet, then he let me go--again--as he was called off to his performance, a laugh in his eyes.

My best friend had come back as a god. Famous. Smelling like roses.

Grey eyes, he sang, his fingers modulating into a new, darker tune.

Rolling as thunder

Flashing like lightning

As I kiss your girl

All winds

You'll see

His voice, directed but mellow, held me in a spell.

Your hands

Clenching like steel

Shaking like chain link

As I kiss your girl

All desires

You'll see

You think

Darkest of shadows

Bloody as Mary

As I kiss your girl

I frowned as Mark pulled at me, but I shrugged him off. What was this song?

All forces

You'll see

Jared brought his finger to his lips impossibly fast before he launched into the next verse.

You kill

Twisting like jumpropes

Quenching like ice cream

As I kiss your girl

All knowledge

You'll see

His voice wrapped me in a bubble and I couldn't feel Mark's hands anymore. I could only hear Jared's awful verses, beckoning me forward in time with the float.

You fly

Waltzing like fireflies

Chanting with summer

As I kiss my girl

All souls

You'll see

You see

Liquid like sunlight

Clear as reflection

That I kiss my girl

All kisses

You'll see

All winds, all desires

All forces, all knowledge

All souls, all kisses

You'll see

End with me

I met him at the end of the road, on the far side of the park. Somehow, I'd maneuvered to the front of the vying crowd surrounding him. "Did you like it?" Jared asked me, as he handed his guitar up and dismounted the rose throne.

"I didn't understand your song," I admitted.

The dark boy smiled, lacing our fingers together. I struggled under the flood of twin memories that felt as smooth, as invincible, as correct. He led the way through the crowd.

"It's what your lover is thinking at this exact moment," he said.

"He's not my lover," I said.

He nodded, accepting. "He thinks he is. I showed him what would happen if he tried to reclaim you."

I frowned, replaying the lyrics in my mind. "You'd kill him?" I said.

He laughed. "You think I would kill anyone? No, that was his thought. I simply informed him how the battle would end if he actually engaged in his purpose."

"But he'd still die," I concluded.

Jared grabbed my shoulders, turning me to face him. He stared seriously into my eyes. "I don't want him to die. It's why I warned him. Do you remember, Med? When there's something I want... I can't help getting my way."

Another memory burst across my mind. My cat, run over by a car. Jared gently taking the mangled form from me. His brown eyes assuring mine, then closing as a frown furrowed his brow. "What I want..." he whispered. And then a white ball of fluff, still red, jumping from his arms to dash under the porch, where he licked himself furiously.

"What are you?" I whispered.

He shrugged, his fingertips touching my cheek, and I felt heat warm my flesh. "What I left to become. Yours."

"But I already was yours," I said, confused. "You didn't have to leave."

His eyelashes lowered as he raised my chin. "I didn't know."

Our lips brushed, but I couldn't close my eyes. Behind him, Mark was watching.

___

Happy Valentine's Day!  I love you, my friends. :)

Stinky Tactics

The trunk wasn't all that comfortable.  A wedge of uneven wood dug into my spine right on the bone, and my arms, curled round under my knees and tied at the wrists, pressed tightly into the rough sides.  If I could've seen, my cloud of breath would be a frigid white.

The cousins really hadn't been very nice, forcing me into here, but I didn't really blame them.  If I didn't show for the dinner, they would get the award--the award I'd stolen from them to begin with.

They didn't deserve it, but Master Yi only said, "The world isn't concerned with justice, only rewards.  Justice just makes a mess of things."

Case in point.

I scraped my nail against the wooden lid, hoping to attract a mouse or a roaming cat.  There had to be some biting creature in the vicinity... this was a pantry.  When scratching didn't bring anything near, I slowed my breathing as my exercises taught and sank into deeper senses, listening past my own heartbeat for the scurrying flutter of a smaller mammal's.

The cousins had done a bang-up job of clearing the area.  And the cats were a little too efficient, in my estimation.  They probably deserved their warm spots by the fire.  I sank even further, searching for the tiniest thread of life.  Silence surrounded me, and the stone of the foundation was so cold, so inanimate.

And then I heard it, a scratch many times more miniscule than the one I'd sounded.  I zeroed in on the creature.

It was a stinkbug.

I groaned.

But I'd freeze into sleep if I didn't get out of here soon.  And if I left my discovery up to human eyes, I'd suffer detention on top of frostbite.  As Master Yi said, "Pride is the grave's siren."  

Stinkbug it was.

I funneled my plea to the round-plated bug, inviting it to my dark and cozy home.  No one would disturb it here inside this protective shell.  It could hibernate in peace until spring and find plenty of food when it woke.

I shivered.  It crawled so slowly.  How far away was the thing?  By something big and cold and smooth... maybe a jar of pickles?  I encouraged it to use its wings.  This really was a nice place to hide.  The stinkbug flew to my trunk, crawled instinctively under the crack in the lid, and touched my knee.

The thing about encouragement is that it doesn't give you real control.  I doubted I could just encourage a bug to pick a lock.  I wasn't even positive the stinkbug would be big enough to do the trick, but since it was my only resource, I had to try.  Wise Master Yi said, "Don't use your tools, believe in them."

Whatever that meant.

Only one, intense purpose would fit inside the bug's tiny body, so I put all my thought into opening the lock.  I took a deep breath, and switched places.

Warmth beneath me.  A strange urge to crawl from home.  My claws dig into porous wood.  Out from the comfortable cave.  Down the side, onto hard metal without as many footholds.  A dark crevice, just the right size for my body.  Crawling inside.  Comfort.

An urge to crawl further in, to poke my legs into the tinier cracks.  Unable to budge the surface.  Forcing my way in, jamming my shell forward, shoving with all six legs.  A sudden, great movement creates a comfortable cave.  Tiredness.  Rest.  Sleep.

An earthquake jars me awake.  Great rumbling noises threaten my tight wedge, and make me creep from my place.  I climb out of the darkness into a sliver of light and hold still.

The light disappears and instinct encourages me to a safer home.  I know this home.  I slip into the crack in the wood and crawl deep inside the darkness.  I touch warmth.  Home.

Abruptly, I was hyperventilating inside the trunk.  That was just too close a call, I could have been a stinkbug forever if its instincts hadn't guided it right.  Maybe that's what Master Yi meant by "believe."  I blew out a breath of laughter, trying to calm down.  It'd done it, the bug had released the lock.  I kicked my legs upward with as much force as I could muster, and jarred the lid.

I heard a tiny whirr and paused.  Smiling, I offered the bug a fold in my clothing.  Then I kicked again, trying to release the latch.  A third and then a fourth kick, my spine killing me, and the lid flew open.  I laughed out loud, wanting to cry, and thrust my legs over the edge.  I cranked out a powerful sit-up, tied arms behind me, and tottered over to the doorway.

Those cousins were going to regret ever locking me in that trunk.  Stinkbug style.

___

Today's prompt was "Show someone fighting for their freedom."  I'm completely disgusted by stinkbugs, but they could have their uses, too, right?  How do you think the main character will use his stinkbug to gain revenge? :)

Granny

"I wish your grandmother could remember your name," the nurse said.

I snorted.  Of course I knew my own granddaughter's name.  The dratted man never got it right.  I just couldn't open my mouth fast enough to say anything before he spoke for me.

He wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.  "But Granny's raised four fine children and enjoyed seven grandchildren, including you, and now it's time she was involved in her own mind and not everyone else's."

"I know," Lucinda said.  "I just wanted her to meet Matthew before we married.  Granny's always sent me love notes, and I wanted to say I love her back before life gets crazy for the two of us."

I sniffled.  "I love you, too, dearest child," I almost said, but obnoxious-nurse interrupted.  "Let's wheel her into lunch and you three can talk."

As though I watched a motion picture, Lucinda and her fiance dissolved, and my dragon touched his great, warm snout to my forehead.

"George," I exclaimed, delighted.  "I haven't seen you since last fall.  Is it really almost summer again?  How were the hot springs?"

"It's Matthew, not George, ma'am," he answered, and I waved his answer away.  "You always did have a sense of humor, George.  I'd know you anywhere."

I scratched the beast under his chin, where the scales were the most sensitive.  He closed his saucer eyes, and smoke curled from his nostrils in pleasure.  "There, you see," I said.  "I bet that's all you were missing.  You needed me to come scrub your back, didn't you?"

"You guessed it on the button," George chuckled, and as I read the deeper tones in his voice, I sat up in my chair.

"You mean that," I smiled widely.

After all these years of him leaving me... I had to wait for him to come back, every time.  Time all blurred together, now.  Light, dark, a muddy ice.

"I do mean it," he said.  "How would you like to fly with me?  I have this itch I haven't been able to reach since 1965."

1965.  I wrinkled my brow.  Wasn't there something else that had happened in 1965?

"It's when you were married, Granny," a girl's voice broke into our conversation and I squinted, confused at how George disappeared again.  Every time he left, coldness enter my bones.  "You went to the hot springs for your honeymoon."

"My honeymoon," I whispered, trying to remember.  All I could think was that the darn chill was spreading through my body.

"We're going there for our honeymoon, too."  The girl gazed into the eyes of the strange man sitting beside her.  Her... her fiance, wasn't it?  George.  No, George was bigger, much bigger.  "Matthew," I forced out.  Finally.

Lucinda leaned forward over the... what were those, peas?  I couldn't stand peas.  Excitement filled her eyes.  "That's right, Granny," she said.  "This is Matthew."

"You're going to the hot springs," I murmured.  I nodded, as well as I could manage through my shivering.  "George..." I began.

And George materialized in front of me again.

"Yes, Marinda," he rumbled.  "Is that a yes?  You'll come with me to the hot springs?"

I rubbed my palms over my arms, unable to stop the shaking.  "I think... I think you'd better fly me there quick," I said.  My body couldn't seem to stop shuddering, even with the blanket.

George's enormous snout opened wide and he guffawed.  A wave of sulfury breath engulfed me with a promise of warmth.  He always did make me feel warm.  "Who said anything about me flying?" he said.  "You're going to fly on your own wings."

I stared at him, a strange feeling expanding my chest.  My deepest dream, taunting me with filaments of hope.  "You mean that?" I said.  "You really mean that?"

He nodded.  "It's time your scales shined, Marinda.  Let's get on our way, shall we?  When we get there, I'll scrub your back."

The shudders overtook me.

"Granny," I heard panic, and I found enough control to grin up at my granddaughter.  "Lucinda," I said.  "I'll meet you at the hot springs."

I cried out, and that dratted nurse said, "She's been waiting for George for a long time."

Well, for once he'd gotten it right.  I let go, and thrust out my wings.

__

Happy National Backwards Day!  I'm going on a backward run and wearing my clothes inside out to celebrate :).  What are you doing to be backwards?

To read more inside-out stories, visit Suzanne Warr's blog hop.

Cliffdiving

I'm breaking the rule of flash fiction today and making it flash, instead.  The deal is, this week's prompt is to show parental love, but all my muse is giving me are non-fictional examples.  Things like wiping bums, and cooking food... again.  Sewing up seams in the unraveling bird-toy collection.

Sharing the notebook with your daughter's algebra problems.  Tearing out a page with your other writing on it accidentally.

And sharing your laptop.  Trying to remember how to breathe.

Waking when the world is asleep to check your son's blood sugar.  Waking again to get your daughter to her early classes.

Waking from a snatched catnap to teach your children (again) that "contention is of the devil."  Reminding them of more constructive projects, like learning that "cleanliness is next to godliness."

Oh... cooking food.  Did I mention this?  Wishing you weren't eco-conscious so you could toss the dishes and forget about washing them.  Remembering you have built-in dishwashers that need to learn how to work.

Lessons about money.  And service.  And saving money so you can serve.

Building talents and skills with hours of encouragement of all types.  Praying to know what kind of encouragement to give.

Wanting them to be successful now and later.  Wanting them to know how to be good people, and to choose to be them.

Parenting's crazy.  It's a feat you have to take seriously and want to do, so that when it's breaking your soul, you can still smile at your kids.  I see moms and dads around me doing such an incredible job at this, showing their children kindness and love while sweating to provide for them, that I just want to give those people heartfelt hugs and applause.  They're giving their children life... their own lives and their kids' future lives.

You amazing parents are what our earth revolves around.

In the spirit of this, I'll leave you with an image.

If all of that up there were fiction, then my real life would be cliffdiving.  Thrusting myself over the edge into a crystal blue sea.

It's the emotion I define raising my children with.  Exhilarating, scary, a long, long fall.  Your insides don't make the trip.  Explosion and tightness in the water.  Coldness countered by thrumming blood.  Popping your ears.  Holding your breath.  Laughter.

And glorious views.

Worth the experience.

Resolution

"Are you on your way in or out?" a man's voice behind me demanded.

I hunched my shoulders and murmured, "In."

"Well, can you get a move on? You're holding up the elevator."

I mumbled a 'sorry' and took another tiny step that didn't move me anywhere. My black dress gathered at the edges of the doors. They kept trying to close.

"Mommy," I heard a child say, "I think that lady is stuck."

I closed my eyes.

The mommy couldn't speak quietly enough. "I think so, too, darling. Maybe we should take another elevator."

"There aren't any more elevators!" The child's voice faded with their footsteps.

"We'll take the stairs," came the faint reply.

Dignity, I told myself.

Another voice came from my back side. A nicer man's voice. "Ma'am, are you going in or out?"

I couldn't answer. Tears were threatening. I raised my chin.

"In, then. That will be easiest. Ma'am, on the count of five, I'm going to give you a push. I want you to know that I'm not intending any sort of harrassment, only help, is that clear?"

I nodded.

"I need your verbal consent."

"Yes," I whispered.

"Right, then. I need everyone to clear the area, please. One," he began to count.

Please, I uttered a silent prayer. Please let this be as quick and painless as possible.

"Two."

A traitor tear leaked out.

"Three." His voice came from a distance away.

Please let him never see my face.

"Four. Five."

I heard footsteps. Oh, lord, he was running. I turned my head to see but the impact came first. His whole body jammed into me, and I slid into the elevator as the doors began to forcefully close.

"Unnhhh," I heard him groan to general applause in the lobby. "Whoever had the idea of putting Weight Control on the eleventh floor ought to be shot."

The doors shut and I moaned. I was turned the wrong way. I couldn't see which button to push. And I couldn't see a way out of the elevator. No wonder ZapFatFast had a 100% success rate. It was their plan to make their victims die of over-exertion by climbing the stairs, or--why didn't I look before I stepped?--to wither in embarrassment because they couldn't fit into the teeny elevator.

The elevator rose and stopped. "Second floor," a soothing female voice intoned. The doors opened but I didn't hear anything. Thank heavens no one was there.

The doors closed again and the elevator climbed another level. "Third floor," sang the voice.

Shuffling of feet and clothing. Then, "Ma'am, do you need some help?"

I shook my head.

"That's all right, we'll just wait for the next one."

Snickers of laughter. A muffled "That elevator is loaded to max capacity." The humming slide of the doors.

Max volume, not weight, I thought stubbornly, or it wouldn't have gone up.

My spirits lifted slightly and a memory tickled my brain--my Russian godmother kissing my cheeks during my torrent of self-hateful tears, saying, "Fat souls have wills; skinny souls have wishes. You have power. You will find the way."

At the time, I'd snorted at yet another of her sayings. Now... well, did I have power? Wasn't it I who came to visit these psychos in the first place?

The elevator dinged. "Fourth floor," the voice toned. The doors opened.

A nasal simpering. "Ma'am, can you scoot over? We're in kind of a hurry."

I spoke to the wall with more assurance than I felt. "What do you think I am, a supermodel? This elevator is mine. You'll have to take the stairs."

The doors slid closed and I swallowed, desperately visualizing my godmother. Did I do okay? I asked her.

Perfect, I could see her mouthing.

The elevator churned for a while. "Tenth floor." The doors opened.

A chorus of groans. "How in the world did she get in there?" "Does she ever have a problem." Groans turning to laughter.

I raised my voice. "See this?" I tried to wiggle my backside but it really was pretty tight. "I'm in here to show people like you how to respect others. I am NOT the one with the problem."

The laughter died and the doors slid shut.

Keep going, my godmother whispered.

"Eleventh floor." The doors opened.

A man's voice spoke. "This is Weight Loss and Management, ma'am. I think this is your floor."

I noticed a blurry reflection on the polished steel wall before my face--a skinny figure in a brown suit with a crowd of all sizes behind him. Dang. If I'd noticed that before, I could have seen their reactions as I made my way up.

This one's for you, I told my godmother.

I raised myself up to full height and felt my weight re-settle. It was quite a bit more comfortable. "Actually, sir, I'm managing my weight just fine. But you all seem to be concerned about it, seeing it's your floor, so why don't you go take the stairs and save yourselves a few years to your lives? I'll be just fine in here."

The doors shut before I could glimpse their faces, but mine glowed. I did have power. Maybe, if I held myself tall, I could squeeze out of the elevator. But, really, I didn't even care. I'd never felt so good.

___

Today is National Ditch Your Resolution Day, but I'm having trouble with that because my own resolution, to rewrite my WIP, is coming splendidly (chapter four, yeah!).  Mostly, though, I believe resolutions can change you for good, on the outside and on the inside, however slowly it comes.

In saying that, this story is NOT about making fun, even though it was fun to write.  It's about the idea that people are born to be beautiful.  Whatever you set your mind to doing, you can do when you keep your sights on the goal, but when it comes to being, being YOU is best... and incredible.  I hope your resolution is to love you, and don't you dare ditch it!