Like dreaming of angels

Lately she'd been noticing herself grow green. Steady and petulant like a child. Greener and greener with the day. She couldn't help but wonder how and why that was. And why now. Until it hit her. A wallflower. Years and years she had been growing herself as a wallflower. Meticulously, thoroughly, brought to perfection. But her built-in mechanism to belittle and destroy everything she ever created had taken over and made her think and label herself as inadequate, incapable of communication and socially awkward. And she had beaten herself up over this. Hated herself. Tried to fix it. To fit in and be normal. And then beaten herself up over not making it. Until one day she realized. She loved roaming the streets alone. She loved going to shows alone. She loved immersing, experiencing, giving her full attention. She loved the ecstasy of hours spent in complete detachment from the external world, with only the total bliss from the energy soaked in from the stage. Or the melody of her favorite tune melting in her ears while she wandered aimlessly and smiled at strangers. Another humanly presence would ruin all this. And she wanted it. She needed it. Like a breath of air after almost drowning. She enjoyed it. It was moments like these that kept her alive. She loved being a wallflower. It had its perks.