rip van wrinkle.

am i the only 20 something year old that loves her wrinkles?



i was talking with my mom the other day...and i realized something. i absolutely love my wrinkles. i love my laugh lines. i love my crows feet near my eyes. i love the way my eyes sink a little further into my face. i love the sun spots on my face, and the way every single freckle tells a story.

i guess i can see where women come from when they talk about how they want to get rid of their wrinkles. to try and...become...younger. to try and erase the age spots that other people use to determine how old they are. i guess i can see it since trees do it too, with the bark hiding their rings within the trunk.

i guess i can see why women want to erase the places that showed where they were mad, or sad, or cried a lot. or when they were in the sun...perhaps a distant painful memory of watching a loved one leave town.

i could see how women would want to hide their skin with make up. to get rid of the ugly acne and freckles on their face. to give the apperance of soft smooth skin that looks like they never left home. maybe never went on adventures. or to try and erase the memory of that adventure. maybe they don't want to remember that they are getting older...too old to go on another one because of responsibilities.


but me?

no.


i love my wrinkles. i love looking into my face and seeing the lines where i cried. the lines that have made me who i have become. the sun spots that hit my face from standing too long in the sun when i was yelling at a boy outside of his apartment, begging him to love me...to be with me. the freckles i got when i moved to Wilmington to start a whole new life for myself. to experience the sun and not just the mountains. to take a chance on a new life.

i love my deep set eyes. the eyes that continue to fall back into my face, where it looks like bags under my eyes. those bags are full of wisdom. full of memories. full of pictures that will never be erased from my mind.

i love my zits and pimples. it reminds me of high school when i was made fun of for having a gross face. it shows me how far i have come. it shows me that it doesn't matter what your face looks like, only what your heart looks like. if you can improve your heart, your face doesn't matter all that much. people will like you for your face. people will love you for your heart.


make-up: a way of covering up the past. a way to make-up what you have been through.

nah. i'm good.