it's so easy to love my life

[brooklyn ava cauldwell]

_{who wouldn't want to be me?}

brooklyn cauldwell walked with a purpose down the street. in fact, she almost marched. sh ewas just one of those girls who walked with confidence. she wore a loose fitting tank top, and traces of her blue tye-dyed sports bra were visible. her jean shorts were ridiculously short, and her flip flops didn't really match anything else in her outfit. even so, she somehow managed to look pretty, or at least cute. her dance bag with all her dance stuff in it was slung over her shoulder, and her aviators shielded her eyes from the evening sun. she walked with a bounce in her step, in the manner of somebody who is totally comfortable in their skin and really doesn't give a shit about what people think of them. that was brook, in a nutshell. she was confident enough to be goofy and crazy and do what she wanted, and she certainly wasn't self conscious about her body. at least, she didn't seem to be.

she shoved a strand of bangs out of her eyes as she pulled open the door to the coffee shop and slipped inside. she ordered a mint frap like somebody who knew coffee. obviously she was a bit of an addict, because she knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't one of those people who stood at the counter and went "um. well. maybe i want that. oh i don't know!" no, not brooklyn. she knew exactly what she wanted out of life, and she knew exactly how to get it. that was just brooklyn.

she stared out the window as she waited for the drink to get called out and then started toward the door like she was about to leave. After a moment's hesitation, though, she seemed to think better of it and swung around to steal her favorite high table next to the window. her feet tucked onto one of the rungs, since she obviously couldn't reach the floor. it was her favorite table. she wasn't sure exactly why. she liked being up hi and she liked the view out the window. and so she sat quietly, sipping on her frappe and critiquing her last dance practice in her head, running it over and over and thinking about what she needed to fix. that was brooklyn for you. dance on her mind, 24/7.

count; 391 clothes; click tag; open!
notes; this kinda sucks epically.