08-29-2006, 06:41 PM
A girl was already sitting in the helicopter, the headset on and a book in her hand. She looked remotely Mexican, with dark dark brown hair and almost black eyes. Her nails were painted a deep blue, with small golden glitters, and her clothes were a simple blouse.
Her name was Isabella Keyes; she'd been involved in another incident involving a photographer and wanted to help, just in case.
I stare at the girl in the mirror: T-shirt, torn up jeans, no beauty queen.
But the way that you see me, you get underneath me, and all my defenses just fall away, fall away.
I am beautiful with you, even in the darkest part of me. I am beautiful with you;
Make it feel the way it's supposed to be!
You're here with me: Just show me this and I'll believe I am beautiful with you!