Girls, all I really want is girls...

I like girls who smoke. I don't like that they smoke, but I like how they hold the cigarette just-so between their fingers and inhale with pretty lips. I like how they walk with confidence, tendrils of smoke curling up around them and anyone who gets in their way is immediately sucked into their hazy world.

I like girls in leather jackets, with braided hair, and bright red lipstick. I like girls who wear a thousand bracelets all up their arms and run their fingers along the jewellery when they're nervous or bored. I like when they fiddle with chain necklaces or their watch or a strand of their sweet hair.

I like girls who wear their shirts tucked into their jeans, suspenders, and those thick black nerd glasses that seemed to have popped up everywhere. I like when they strut around in cotton and denim, their Converse making scuff-scuff-squeak noises on the cold linoleum. I like their smiles, the easy ones that seem to wrap you up in warmth and tell you -- without words -- that you're accepted.

I like nice girls. I like bold girls. I like confident girls with insecurities and I like girls who struggle with something. I like girls I can fix, girls who can fix me, and girls who seem to have broken the world.

I like lips and hips and eyes and thighs and everything, absolutely everything, in between.