We're Not Perfect. We Just Wanted to Be.
You know you're not perfect. But it tears you apart each time you remind yourself of it, each time you go out in public and realize that she's better dressed, he has clearer skin, she has softer hair, and he has a better laugh. I know I'm not perfect too. But I don't dwell on that. I tell myself that I'm fine, that I am perfect, even though I look in the mirror, staring at my crooked teeth, looking at my ugly clothes, and wishing my hair was parted differently, or that I could comb it to make it look just like the head cheerleader's.
You hate yourself. So much. You think you're not smart enough or nice enough. But I've always known you were wrong. You're one of the people I look up to. I watch you give to the poor, laugh at people's jokes when they're not funny, and dress in beautiful clothes that make me look like shit standing next to you. You could have been friends with anyone, but you chose me, the trouble making, red-headed, ditzy dancer. You were so talented, everyone loves you. No one wants me. No one ever wanted me. I make mistakes. I act stupid. I pretend to like guys, to be infatuated with them, and even you, my best friend, can't see through that facade. I act confident. But I'm not. You're the one that should be confident. You're amazing. I've never watched you hurt someone. You always look on the bright side. But I know you. You're lying. You lie to everyone, each time you say something positive, pretend to be in a good mood. You're dying inside. You're plotting your own demise. Feeling pathetic, empty, lonely, and unloved. I don't want to hurt myself, unless you die. I should be the one feeling that way. I'm the one who's cool, confident, and believes in herself, but there's nothing to believe in. I shouldn't be confident. I don't deserve confidence. I'm the one who's a mess up. I can't get anything right. I spend hours of my life trying to be as good as everyone else. It's never any use. But I'm not a perfectionist like you. I believe in myself when you don't. I always push myself a little too hard. I'm not perfect either. I just can't face the facts yet.
You're Rocky. I'm CeCe. We've been best friends for our whole lives. If you hurt yourself cause of these negative thoughts, I won't know what to do with myself. I barely know what to do with myself right now. I've never told you, but I love you. I've known it since we first talked. It's not that teenage girl love crap where you say, "No homo!" at the end of your "confession." It's real love. I've imagined our wedding, my mother crying, your mother watching us in matching dresses, wondering why she had such a strong opposition for gay marriage for decades. They'd be so proud of us. But I don't know if we can end up like that. I was never sure. All I know is you're my best friend. And I'd give anything to keep it that way, at least for a little while.