I wish it wasn't so easy to read me like a book. Mischief is in my eyes, shyness by the shape of my lips. My fear and doubt is in the fluttering of my hands, and you know you're getting to me when my ears go red. I wish I didn't cry when I was mad, I wish I didn't blush when I was trying to hide something. I wish my feelings were mine to choose to display, not to be given freely without my permission. Sometimes I wish I was mysterious and perplexing, not so obvious and known. [Photo by Jamie Delaine].