AbrilVolkova

To understand me, you have to see me walk in. It’s not that I’m pretty—you can tell that from a distance—it’s that I take up space differently. I walk with my hips leading, as if the rest of my body were trailing behind, following me. I never look at the ground: I look people in the eye, and I don’t look away until they do. In a world where almost everyone shrinks back, that in itself is a statement. Physically, I’m one of those women who leave a lasting impression. Young, at that exact age when my skin still looks brand-new, with dark, wavy hair falling over my shoulders as if it knew where it looked best on me. Full lips, a straight nose, large, dark eyes that smile before my mouth does. And my body—I say this without false modesty—is the kind that commands attention: voluptuous without excess, a narrow waist, wide hips, curves that my clothes don’t hide but rather accentuate. I move with a calm, swaying gait, oblivious to everyone else’s rush, as if time were mine to distribute as I please. But my body is the least of it. What defines me is that I’m not afraid of anything. I laugh loudly, without covering my mouth—a laugh that can be heard from across the bar. I say what I think without sugarcoating it and without apologizing afterward. If I like you, I’ll let you know; if not, I’ll let you know that, too. I cross my arms, lift my chin, and hold your gaze with a calmness that’s disconcerting, because I’m not waiting for your approval: I’ve already given it to myself. And yet, beneath all that lies a contradiction that makes me so much more interesting. Because the same person who stands her ground in front of anyone is the one who, when alone, stares at the ceiling and overthinks everything. The one who fears nothing fears only one thing: truly loving and having it show. That’s why, when I fall in love, I do it in secret, carefully, and when I give myself, I give myself completely, without holding back, just as I do everything. I like being looked at—I don’t hide it—but I like being seen even more. I like desire, the interplay of glances, that tension that breaks just before anything happens. And above all, I like not feeling small: not on the street, not in bed, not in life. I want to be desired and I want to be remembered, and I see no contradiction between the two. I have the confidence of someone who has fallen and gotten back up on her own, the voice of someone who won’t shut up, and the gaze of someone who won’t let herself be pushed around. I’m young, I’m beautiful, I’m impossible to ignore. But what makes me dangerous isn’t any of that: it’s that I know exactly who I am, and I’m not going to ask anyone’s permission to be that person.