I bite my nails. It's a flaw. I bite them when I'm bored, and I bite them when I'm nervous. I'd probably be biting them right now, but my fingers are tapping the keyboard. I've been told that I snore. I hate that. It's embarrassing. If I'm in the same room as someone, I don't want to fall asleep anymore. I'm sensitive. Quick to have hurt feelings. And I'm not always going to tell you when my feelings are hurt, you'll just know. Because I'm going to act upset. I'll get quiet. You'll ask me what's wrong. "Nothing," I'll say. Also a flaw.

I'm easily excited by things like my favorite show, my favorite song, a puppy. When I'm excited, I talk too fast. And too much. I'll catch myself rambling and stop myself. It's embarrassing.

I'm easily embarrassed. Flaw.

I run too much. Or not enough. One day I'm on top of the running world. The next day I complain about having to even step outside to go for a run. I'll go an entire week without so much as putting on a running shoe. The next week I'll be adamant about going every day. I'm a runner. Or am I? Flaw.

I get insecure for no reason. And for every reason. I compare myself to others. Should my hair look like that? My waist isn't that small. I wish I had those shoes. And those eyes. Why do I look so bad in this photo? I want to be told I'm beautiful. I don't know why. Maybe I need the validation. Flaw.

I'm naive. I believe in love and happily ever after. I believe I'm enough for people to stick around, and am crushed when they don't. Too crushed. I fall hard, as my head fills with wispy dreams of perfect endings and smiles and hand-holding. Those things don't happen, so I fall again. Off the edge. And spend weeks picking up broken pieces of my naive dream. Of course I put them back together, just in time for the next time. It's all cracked and misshapen, but I'll be damned if I don't put it back together. Every. Time.


I don't like the sound of chewing. So much so that I'd actually kill you with the looks I shoot in your direction. If looks killed. Big crowds of strangers put me on edge. If those strangers are also drunk, you may as well give me a sedative. Or a shot of booze. I'm irritable at the drop of a dime. Flaw. Flaw, flaw.

But I'm happy. I love my job. I love my friends. My family. My apartment, my cats. I love my favorite shows, my car, my couch, my sweatpants. The smallest of things make my day. A smile. An email. A text. A sign of something good. I'm optimistic, even though I tried so hard for so long to be a pessimist. I believe in love and happily every after.

Not a flaw.