Perfection. That's what you wanted right? Perfection? I stared in to the mirror but I only saw your eyes. Everyone said I look just like you. With your perfect straight hair. Your perfect amber eyes. I used to think that it was a blessing to look like you. You always looked so beautiful. You were always envied by everyone. But now I see that my used- to -be blessing is, in reality, a curse. Every time I look in the mirror I will always see your eyes. I will always see the memories. The memories of your cold eyes. Your loveless tone. Your obsession with perfection. I narrowed my eyes at the mirror and my nostrils flared. In frustration I harshly grabbed my gold encrusted comb and angrily flung it at the mirror. As the reflective shards fell I could only form one thought.
I'm Not You.