The Face in the Mirror

Prologue:

 Edited

Sometimes I wonder.

Wonder who the face is.

Who the face looking back at me is

Sometimes I know who she is.

Other times, I don’t.

Sometimes I wish

I could be her,

Be like her at least

Sometimes I can’t stand it.

Can’t stand looking at her,

Her face in the mirror

Sometimes she cries.

Big, fat, shining drops

Fall from her eyes

Sometimes I want to console her.

Befriend her

Other times, I laugh.

Sometimes she just watches,

Watches me,

Her eyes moving with my every step

Sometimes I wish she were alive,

Sometimes I realize who she is.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t.

Sometimes I wish I did.

The face in the mirror

Me, only better

A lot better.

Perfect.

Is that even possible? Sometimes, I really doubt that it is. What is perfection? Is there really, truly a definition for that? Perfection is found in the eyes of the beholder, right? So why can no one see the beauty within anybody, not even themselves? Why can’t I see the beauty that lies within me? Is there even any beauty within me?

And if there is, it must be buried so deep down that it is impossible to find. Because I’ve searched and scoured every corner of my soul, it still has yet to rise. Is it me? Can everybody else find this beauty, waiting for them just beneath the surface? Then, why must mine be buried so far under my skin? I don’t even know if it’s still there anymore.

I used to know. I used to believe it was there. Is perfection such a petty thing that it switches from person to person, finding who it may think best to contain it? But it never leaves some people. For those select people, it is always there.

 I don’t deserve it. I will never deserve it. Maybe at one time, I did. But as my age grew in numbers, my confidence shrank into nonexistence. My insecurities multiplied to the infinite and beyond.

Why me?

Why?

Oh, I know. It’s because nobody matters less than me. Nobody cares. Maybe that’s why I decided that becoming anything other than me would be so much better.

People would like me better. People would care about me. People would want to know me.

I would have friends. At least I have her. People like her; she’s the me that never existed before.

And this is where Charlotte comes in.

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XxTheDarkAngelxX