Go have fun

It was late summer, a time when pretty jewels shone the brightest under the light of the sun.

If there's one lesson to take from these events, it's that the more we chase perfection—no matter how beautiful it is—the further it slips away. People radiate most when left free, and any attempt to harness that light is, at best, a distraction—and at worst, a corruption.

Now, where shall I start with the tale? You need a little bit of context, so I think I'll go back to some time before. Let's see…

Yes, of course—let's begin with August 8th. Such a lovely number to start the story.

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Yours truly was poised with one foot slightly turned out, fingers resting on my chin, spine straight as if pulled by a silk thread. My skin shone under the daylight, smooth as porcelain.

A snap—and the gift of my presence was sealed forever. Another followed as I shifted into a new pose. The third photo of that day would later become one of my all-time favorites.

I was in such a streak I could've kept going for hours, unveiling one piece of art after another. Heat burned in my chest as I poured my all into every movement—I was so lost in the trance, I forgot there was a life beyond this moment.

It was the producer who pulled me out of the dream with his usual catchphrase "We’re wrapped—everyone home now."

With steps barely stirring the sand, I made my way back to the van, the ocean breeze swaying my hair like the waves along the shore.

My changing room was exactly as you'd imagine—rows of branded, freshly pressed dresses, every bottle of nail polish and hair conditioner aligned to the millimeter; not a single hair out of place.

Just as I was about to change, my phone vibrated—my agent, checking in about her last offer.

That same morning, she'd mentioned an extra gig that came up—the original model had called off at the last minute. She asked me to think it over and get back to her after the shoot.

Accepting would mean cancelling my date, and it had already been over two weeks since the last.

So I took the phone, already knowing exactly what my answer would be…

I was going to accept.

Yes, you are right to judge me for that choice—but at the time, it felt like the right call. After all, shouldn't work come before fooling around?

But whether by fortune or misfortune, the moment I swiped the screen, her voice came through, cancelling the job as abruptly as she had offered it.

"Sorry to mess up your head, gal. Things worked themselves out, so go have fun with your boygirl or whatever. But don't forget you have another appointment tomorrow. That's all for now. Byes!"

I gave the only answer that felt right for such a formal call:

"Oki doki, kisses."

Our professional relationship was its own thing, I know. But let's go back to me. Now I had a little over an hour to get ready for my date. With that time one could either clean up the chaos of the room, or spend it becoming the most beautiful being the material world could handle.

Naturally, I chose the latter—how could you tell?