Whenever I get nervous I pull the polish of my nail. I don’t bite them off, no, I use my other hand to rip back the layers of paint and then pull it off like the sheets on a bed. Its an odd habit, and I don’t know where I picked it up, and yet I do it. So, normally I go to school with freshly painted red fingernails, and I normally come back with one or two nails completely clean. Today it was both my thumbs. Yesterday was my left index finger. The day before; all my fingers other then my pinkies because my hand has a hard time scratching those nails for some reason or another.

I get nervous a lot, which is shown by my fingers. As a matter of fact, I remember reading in a book how the hands are the window to the soul. Weird how that works, because my hands would show a life of work, each callous a story, each scar a history. But my nails would say I was fidgety, almost skittish. Which, is probably where my habit picked up, because my hands are always busy and yes, they are very fidgety.

My daddy thinks the polish is a waste since I pick it off during classes, but my mamma disagrees. She says that the red of the paint will make my hands look delicate, will distract the eyes from the scratches that show the labor I perform. She says that with the red it shows confidence. I feel like a sheep in wolfs clothing when she says that. I don’t want to be confident, well, I don’t think its possible for me to be ‘confidant‘. There are to many cruel people at my school for a little speck of confidence to matter, let alone that of mine.

In other books and in sayings passed down through the generations it is said that the eyes, not the hands, are the window to the soul. I don’t know if I agree with that because the eyes can be deceitful. But I suppose my eyes with their drooping lids and saggy flesh beneath the sockets would show that I was weary all the time, even though my eyes are constantly flickering back and forth. Watching. Waiting for something to catch their wandering attention.

My eyes are blue, crystal-clear blue. They reflect upon my personality which is mostly cheerful and happy but can sometimes be a little cloudy. They also reflect upon my smile which doesn’t peak purposely from behind my lips very often, and when I do make my self smile it feels stretched. Like my skin is being put into an unnatural position, bending against its will, or fighting against the tug of muscles.

Many of my friends believe I am always sad or something, but I am quite on the contrary. I’m always happy and laughing on the inside but I just don’t smile to show my happiness. Then again, It would be hypocritical to say that I do not smile because I constantly am, just not consciously. So I guess I do smile quit a bit.

Now I’m just going to ramble on about how the entire body can describe the inside of a person: The feet show the miles the person has walked or the time they’ve traveled. Basic things. Hair can show the diet and age or if they care enough to handle the hair right. Eyebrows show the emotions of a person. Clothes can tell the habits, wealth, personality, mood, location, religion, gender, health, age, interests, and many other things.

You just have to read the person correctly to realize how there lives are shown so simply. They can be read like a book. I would say I am an open book, but aren’t we all?

Like right now, I'm waiting for the right person to come along and see my pages fluttering in wind. See me sitting with my friends, laughing and having the time of our lives, laughing and waiting for the right person to come and take my hand. Waiting for some one to read me.