NOTE: This was inspired by Colbie Caillat's Try. I've been toying with the idea of writing this songfic for quite a while now, but am never quite certain if I'm able to catch the emotions held in the music that makes me think of MirAndy and inspires me to write.
DISCLAIMERS: The usual apply. I don't owe the song, the characters of TDWP or anything else.
~x~
Looking into the vanity mirror as she blow-dried her hair, Miranda easily recognised she was exhausted. Her flawless makeup did little to hide the swirling fatigue, shown in the tightness around her eyes.
She had spent countless years at the forefront of the fashion industry, telling the world what beauty was, and yet, she had never been able to see it in herself.
Every day, she went through the same process. She woke up, worked out alone or with her trainer and then showered and prepared for her day at Runway. She transformed the way she looked, often knocking years off herself and for the most part, it made her feel good about herself despite the fact the ageing process was becoming increasingly difficult for her to hide. She no longer had the smooth, taut, body and face of her twenties. And no matter how hard she worked out, her muscles were not as firm or defined as they once were.
Finishing with the s-shaped curl that fell in her eyes, she noticed the chip in her nail polish and scowled. Seriously, after her busy morning with her trainer, having pushed herself to lose a few pounds before Paris, worried about showing a bit of extra weight, she didn't truly have time for this, and yet she knew she couldn't be seen arriving for Fashion Week with chipped nail polish, and she wasn't due to see her manicurist until after her return from the City of Light.
Sighing, she switched her hairdryer off and rummaged in her makeup case to take out the Chanel Le Vernis Vamp nail polish she favoured and her nail polish remover. She dipped the pad of her fingertip in the nail polish remover, her nose scrunching at the scent of the acetone, and dabbed the chip, before rubbing it lightly to smooth the edges. She allowed it to dry for a few seconds before beginning to fill in the bare patch with a thin layer of polish. She sat down and waited for her nail to dry then applied a second coat of colour over the entire nail. She waited impatiently for the second coat to try and sealed the nail with Dior Gel Coat
She had spent her life trying hard to fit into the mould of her creation, but sometimes, like now, she found herself wondering if it was worth it. It was clear despite how she tried to change herself in different ways for various people that some still struggled to accept or like her.
Her husband, Stephen, for example, could hardly stand being in the same room with her, unless he was drunk.
Her second assistant, Andréa, was the exception if the affection held in her expressive eyes spoke the truth.
And that was partly why she was going to Paris, instead of Emily. She needed the brunette's calm, easy-going nature and wide smiles. It would be a balm to her battered soul.
~x~
Put your make-up on
Get your nails done
Curl your hair
Run the extra mile
Keep it slim
So they like you. Do they like you?
~x~
Andy had always stood out from her peers, most recently as an absolute fashion disaster. There were so many other important things in the world than fashion though, and it was often the plight of mankind that concerned her the most. And yet, despite that she had found herself trying so hard to fit in and belong. She wondered why she felt the need to try and measure up to Runway's expectations of her. Did she need to spend an hour or more getting ready each morning instead of enjoying a relaxed breakfast?
Straightening her long thick hair, she wondered why she was even bothering. It wasn't like she was butt ugly in her natural state by any means. She'd always been rather happy with how she looked and a few people had claimed her smile alone brightened their lives. S None of that seemed to matter at Runway though and she had found herself growing more insecure as she navigated the world as the second assistant to the current Queen of Fashion, Miranda Priestly.
In the grand scheme of things, she knew, within the fashion world at least, that she didn't fit the mould. As a size six, the vast array of clothes designed weren't done with someone like her in mind. As Nigel had succinctly stated on her first day, six was the new fourteen and although it was a healthy size, in her new world, she was seen as fat and had been told as much. She'd changed in the past few months, so much so people claimed they hardly recognised her from the women she was pre-Runway. She couldn't deny their words, although they stung a little. She was still the same person, just a little more stylish.
Finishing with her hair, she tied it into a high ponytail and started on her makeup, working quickly and efficiently to use the primer, concealer and foundation to hide the dark circles under her eyes from the late nights waiting for the book. She used bronzer and highlighter on her forehead, nose, cheeks and chin before applying blusher to her cheeks and dusting a small amount of chocolate and gold eye shadow on her lids and crease of her eyes before adding eye-liner and mascara. Choosing the new nude pink Armani Beauty's Lip Maestro Liquid Lipstick she'd bought on a recent splurge in Sephora, she finished her preparations for the day by brushing the wand over her lips and blotted them carefully.
Spritzing Valentino's Donna Yellow Dream Eau de Parfum against her neck and wrists, she took in the scent of citrus from the Italian lemon, the floral notes from rose petals and the hint of white musk. She packed everything away quickly into her carry-on case and walking out of the bathroom, smiled as she glanced at herself in the floor-length mirror. She was pleased with the outcome of her efforts, having enhanced her eyes and full, natural lips. She felt sexy. She just hoped her beautiful boss approved.
Her cell let out a shrill ring. She picked up her small carry-on case, her cell and the Fendi Croissant Small Shoulder Bag Miranda has tossed at her the week before and left the apartment without looking back at the scruffy man snoring in her bed. Nate would be long gone by the time she returned and in many ways, she was glad about that. Life would certainly be easier without him whining about her long hours and claims she was in a relationship with someone she knew she didn't stand a chance with.
She pressed the button to connect the call as the door whispered shut behind her. "Hi. Yes, Miranda, I'm heading down now. Yes, I have the itinerary and my passport."
~x~
Get your sexy on
Don't be shy, girl
Take it off
This is what you want, to belong
So they like you, do you like you?
~x~
Miranda had always been an introspective person, even as a child. She had always been shy and a little socially awkward, and these were things she hadn't quite grown out of, even now, at the age of 49. Yet she had pushed forward, despite these facets of her personality and she had stood out, despite often wanting to retreat into the woodwork.
The week had been long and it wasn't over. The final shows and after-show parties would be happening the following day, plus the meeting with Irv and the Runway sponsored lunch which would include the news about the launch of James Holt International.
Stephen would be arriving the following morning, to attend the final day, as he always did and she simply hoped he'd keep his drinking to a minimum.
A rapid knock on the door had her moving through her suite to throw it open and when she saw the hotel's general manager shuffling from foot to foot with a large envelope in hand, her eyebrow rose in silent query. "This arrived this afternoon, Madame." He held out the envelope and she took it from him. "A fax. Good evening." He bowed his head and rushed away.
Closing the door, she stepped through the room and tossed the envelope down on the low coffee table before going about her business and preparing to wash away the day. She removed her necklace and earrings and placed them in her jewellery box before stepping into the ensuite and removing her clothes and makeup in preparation to shower.
Deciding to wait to shower, she shrugged into her favourite grey robe and brushed her hair out, releasing it from its usual hair-spayed hold and sweeping it back from her face. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she frowned. Stephen was certainly right, she was nothing remarkable and her makeup hid so many of her imperfections and bare-faced, as she was now, she felt as frumpy as he'd claimed she was.
Turning away from her reflection, she left the ensuite and poured herself a small measure of scotch before settling into the large comfortable sofa her suite provided. She eyed the envelope she'd tossed on the table. It seemed innocuous enough and yet she was wary about opening it and viewing the contents.
Sighing, she reached for it and as soon as she opened the seal, recognised, with jarring familiarity, the documents held within. She'd been privy to this kind of thing once before when she had initiated a divorce from her first husband, James after finding him in a rather precarious predicament with her first assistant at the time. She'd even considered having her lawyer draw up papers such as these herself, once she returned to New York, but it seemed as if Stephen had saved her the bother since he'd beaten her to the punch. In all honesty, it was the most useful thing he'd done in a long time.
She quickly skimmed the paperwork, unmoved by the claim held within the legal jargon of irreconcilable differences. She knew, like James before him, Stephen had been unfaithful and yet to put fault upon him would just prolong the process to be free of him once and for all. At least he had been smart enough to include the fact he wanted nothing from the dissolution of the marriage, a fact which pleased her. She would have ruined him if he'd tried to take what she had worked so hard to achieve.
When she made the decision to date and then marry Stephen, she had tried hard to fit into what he wanted, making the effort to soften her usual icy demeanour and trying to cater to his every need. She thought he had understood her. Despite her efforts, there was always a small part of her that held back, keeping him at arm's length and unable to let him see the woman behind the various sobriquets.
The Snow Queen. The Devil in Prada. The Dragon.
Admittedly, she was all of those things in her professional life, but she was a woman fighting to remain at the top in a man's world. She was also a mother and someone who cared deeply, but she would always do what she needed to succeed.
She thought of her twins and experienced the sting of disappointment over the fact she had brought yet another person into their lives that would simply disappear, after all her promises to them that Stephen would complete their little family. Tears flowed at the thought of observing the betrayal in their beautiful blue eyes.
She was so very tired of letting these men into her life and trying to fit with them. She was weary of feeling like she was not good enough.
It was all exceedingly hard.
~x~
You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to give it all away
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing
~x~
She looked over her chosen outfit for the evening, the Tom Ford Cashmere-Silk Deep V-neck Sweater, Alice Olivia Lamb Leather Leggings and Christian Louboutin Belle Leather Red-Sole Ankle Boots, clothes she'd purchased rather than borrowed from the closet, in the hope she'd once again gain Miranda's approval in the same way she had that fateful day after her makeover.
It was highly unlikely these new clothes would be seen by Miranda though. She had chosen to wear them that evening due to her having a free night and agreeing to dinner with Christian Thompson to talk about her writing and after receiving his help with the Harry Potter debacle.
Her hair was down and her makeup on point. She moved through her room quickly but as she made to pick up her clutch, she saw the folder holding the seating chart that she'd forgotten to leave with Miranda.
"Shit." She hissed, knowing it would have to be given to the woman to go over a final time before the following day.
Grabbing the folder, she tucked it under her arm and glanced at her watch. Miranda was due at the Dior after-show party, so hopefully, she could slip into the editor's suite and leave the file without her realising. She decided to take the boxes of Hermès scarves too and headed out of the room and down the corridor to Miranda's suite.
Letting herself in with the key card she had been provided, she set the boxes onto a side table beside the door before moving around the slight corner and stalling. "Oh." She exhaled a shaky breath of surprise at the sight of the editor curled up in the corner of the large sofa.
"Oh, there you are," Miranda stated softly yet coldly. "We need to go over the seating–uh–chart for the luncheon."
Andy was surprised. The chart had been finalised on the plane journey to Paris. "Okay. Um, yeah sure. I have it right here."
Miranda held her hand out. "By all means, move at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me."
She pulled the folder free and made to hand it to the older woman, surprised when her hand dropped and their eyes met. She noticed how red-rimmed they were and that they sparkled with tears.
They stared at one another before Miranda raised her hand and took the folder, pulling free the seating chart and staring down at it. "Okay. So, first of all, we need to move Snoop Dogg to my table." She stated.
"But your tables full." She reminded her but scribbling down notes as she perched on the cushion of the chair sat at an angle to the sofa.
"Stephen isn't coming." Miranda licked her lips.
"Oh, Stephen isn't–" She pulled out her diary and glanced at it. "So, I don't need to fetch Stephen from the airport tomorrow?" She asked.
"Well, if you speak to him and he decides to rethink the divorce then yes, fetch away–" Miranda rolled her eyes. "–you're very fetching so, go–fetch."
She didn't know what to say to that and the silence between them grew thick and uncomfortable. All she wanted. She realised, was to pull Miranda into her arms and console her. She wanted to press her lips against the faint trails glistening on her cheeks and taste the salt of her tears.
Miranda finally broke the moment shaking her from her thoughts of what she wanted to do to provide comfort. "And when we get back to New York we need to contact–um–Leslie, to see what she can do to minimise the press on all this." She snorted. "Another divorce splashed across Page Six. I can just imagine what they're going to write about me. The Dragon Lady, career-obsessed. Snow Queen drives away another Mr Priestly. Rupert Murdoch should cut me a cheque for all the papers I sell for him."
She still had no idea what to say as tears sparkled once more in Miranda's eyes. She was not used to such a display of vulnerability from the commanding woman.
"Anyway, I don't–" She blew out a breath. "–I don't really care what anybody writes about me." Miranda's voice broke slightly. "But my–my girls, I just–it's just so unfair to the girls. It's just–another disappointment, another letdown–another father figure–" A tear ran down her cheek. "–gone. Anyway, the point is–" She looked down at the chart again. "–the point is–the point is, we really need to figure out where to place Donatella because she's barely speaking to anyone."
She finally gathered her wits and spoke gently. "I'm so sorry, Miranda. If you want me to cancel your evening, I can." She offered
"Don't be ridiculous, why would we do that?" Miranda asked in incredulity, her eyes turning icy.
She sighed in defeat, knowing Miranda was erecting her usual barriers. "Um, is–is there anything else I can do?"
Miranda nodded. "Your job." She handed the seating chart back to her. "That's all."
Despite the dismissal hurting her feelings, she knew what she needed to do and stood up. She took a moment to straighten her clothes, noticing how Miranda's eyes roamed over her and biting her lip, nodded once to the woman in acknowledgement. She would do what Miranda asked, her job, after all, she still needed her paycheck.
Pushing the worry over her next credit card bill away, having overspent believing Nate would still be around to pay half of everything, she turned away and started to leave.
"You look rather acceptable, Andréa," Miranda announced softly to her back. "I just hope Mr Thompson appreciates it."
As she left, she wondered how the older woman knew about her plans.
~x~
Get your shopping on, at the mall,
Max your credit cards
You don't have to choose, buy it all
Do they like you? Do they like you?
~x~
As Irv prattled on and on about the expenses surrounding the publication of Runway each month, Miranda allowed her thoughts to roam to the evening before, asking herself why she'd allowed herself to be so vulnerable with her second assistant.
It was upon meeting Andréa's wonderfully expressive mocha eyes and observing her concern and care that she'd felt safe enough to fall apart. Just what was it about that young woman that allowed her to act so out of character?
Unwilling to feel so exposed again, she'd worked at putting up her usual barriers and prepare for the battle ahead. This had seen her hanging up on Andréa earlier that morning when after picking up the phone in her suite, she'd heard her babbling incoherently, the traffic noise in the background showing she wasn't at the hotel as she should be.
Irv stood and strode towards the door when loud pounding broke through his inane babbling. "Yes?" He queried.
"Oh, hello, Mr Ravitz," Andréa's voice was high and panicked and standing, she edged towards it herself and spotted the woman who had been at the forefront of her internal ruminations. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if–"
She swept past Irv, pulling the door to as Andréa stepped back to hover in the hallway. Completing her usual inspection of the brunette and realising she was wearing the same clothes from the evening before, she grew furious. "Have you completely lost your mind?"
"I need to talk to you," Andréa whispered.
She could feel Irv hovering behind her. "Do not disturb me." She seethed.
"But–" Andréa tried.
Ignoring the slight urgency held in Andréa's voice and the anxiety in her eyes, she stepped back into the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. She glanced at her boss and offered him one of her fake social smiles. "My apologies about that. She's moderately competent but a little overly enthusiastic."
"You like her," Irv asserted.
"I can assure you, I do not like her." She denounced firmly, stalking past him and sitting down.
No, she didn't just like Andréa. What she felt for the woman was far stronger than that trifling sentiment. Not that she would ever have the chance to act upon her feelings. It was unlikely that the brunette felt anything for her, except fear and perhaps slight grudging respect. The very idea that she felt anything at all, would no doubt cause abject revulsion in the younger woman.
"Now shall we get back to the matter at hand, Irving?" She asked, turning her focus back to the business at hand. "You are correct in your claim that American Runway is the most expensive book in the business, but if you believe Jacqueline can do the same thing for a lot less money, you are vastly mistaken."
"I have the figures, Miranda and the full backing of the board," Irv announced gleefully, revelling in her assumed downfall. "You're out."
"Oh, no, no, no." She smirked. "I don't think so, Irving. You see, I called a meeting with the board this morning and provided them with my list, and they have reconsidered everything."
"Your list?" Irv croaked.
"Oh, yes. My list of designers, photographers, editors, writers and models. All found by me, nurtured by me and who have promised to follow me if I ever leave Runway." She leaned forward and passed him an envelope. "It would leave Runway an unprofitable mess for Elias Clarke and destroy the career of anyone foolish enough to try and replace me. And just so you are aware, Jacqueline has accepted the Presidency at James Holt International, therefore she is no longer available."
"What?" Irv yelled, glaring at her. His resentment of her flared in her eyes. "I can't believe you. I–I hate you, Miranda Priestly."
"Am I supposed to care?" She stood up and tugged at her blazer, ensuring it sat perfectly upon her hips. "But I can guarantee the sentiment is entirely mutual, Irving. That's all."
She exited the room regally, with her back straight and her head held high. She had an image to maintain and God forbid if anyone saw just how close she was to her breaking point. No one would ever know how much she hated herself right now, nor the fact that implementing the next part of her plan would hurt her just as much as those involved.
~x~
Wait a second,
Why should you care, what they think of you
When you're all alone, by yourself
Do you like you? Do you like you?
~x~
Andy curled up on the bed, her tears flowing freely.
She had actually done it, she'd walked away from the impossible woman who had somehow captured her heart. It had all been done in an instant, willing herself not to look back at the woman. And then, to top of her stupendous moment of foolishness, she'd tossed her cell into a fountain as it rang shrilly and she'd looked down at it to see Miranda's name on the screen.
She'd been able to admit to herself that she had a crush on her powerful boss, it was clear to her from the way she had grown to adore having Miranda's focussed gaze caressing her each morning when she entered the office. What she hadn't expected was the realisation it was more than a crush. That nugget had smashed into her with such devastating force the evening before as she'd sat opposite the woman and seen her unguarded and exposed. She had left the room overwhelmed and aching to do something, anything, to make it all better.
She thought back on her time at Runway and a stark sob broke free. Frankly, she had been pushed to her limits, trying to meet the impossible demands of the woman at the helm of the multi-billion dollar publication and it had changed her irrevocably.
Nate, her childhood sweetheart was leaving, her friends no longer understood her and had started to distance themselves, and she had done things the night before that made her cringe in the light of the new day.
She had sworn she wouldn't let Miranda break her, but the editor's words from the night before, her dismissal of her, had left her dejected and to take her mind off the unhappy moment she'd drank far too much wine on top of the champagne she'd shared with Nigel. The alcohol had loosened her inhibitions enough to let her believe Christian's sweet-talk and to respond to his kisses. She was just thankful it had also put her to sleep, at least she hadn't made the mistake of fucking him.
It wasn't the comparison and back-handed compliment that had her making the snap decision to leave, but her behaviour towards Nigel. Her total lack of disregard towards him had finally pushed her over the edge and had torn away from her the residual fragment of innocence she'd clung to and held close, so she saw, with glaring certainty, what she believed was the truth.
She was of no significance to Miranda and if she could do that to a long-standing friend and colleague, someone she had known for over fifteen years, what could she do to her, her lowly assistant of months?
She caught the familiar snap of the lock announcing its release and heard the click of heels on the floor moving through her small suite until they came to a standstill at the other side of her bedroom door. Holding her breath, she waited for whatever was going to happen. The door whispered open and she squinted at the shadow framed in the doorway, making out the silhouette of the woman she'd put at the centre of her world.
"Andréa, are you in here?" Miranda's query was offered up softly and with hesitancy.
Her breath left her and another small strangled sob escaped causing her to clap her hand over her mouth. The rapid sound of feet encased in beautiful Prada heels rushing towards her and the eventual dip of the mattress beside her had her curling up tighter and screwing her eyes closed. A small elegant hand brushed lightly through her hair.
"Oh, my beautiful one," Miranda breathed. "I was so scared I would be too late–that I–I–." She faltered.
"What, Miranda?" She demanded through her tears, unable to comprehend the gentleness of Miranda's touch.
"I thought you may be gone," Miranda whispered. "It has been an intolerable thought, however, I had to remain at the shows and handle things with Nigel, but–" She took a deep, steadying breath. "–I am so very glad you are here."
"I don't know what you mean." She insisted tearfully.
"I don't want to lose you, Andréa," Miranda stated.
"You want me to stay? As your assistant?" Her questions showed her surprise and disbelief. With sudden clarity, she realised what she'd done. She'd questioned Miranda, despite all the warnings she'd initially received about doing such a thing. Her hand rose to her mouth again almost unconsciously.
With innate gentleness and a small, wry smile, Miranda lowered her hand away from her mouth. "Yes, darling. I want you to stay in any capacity you consider fit." She pulled back slightly. "As my assistant, my fr–friend–" She wavered on the word. "–or–"
She rose onto her elbow and without letting Miranda finish, she used her free hand to cup her cheek and pulled her close to seek out her lips.
~x~
You don't have to try so hard
You don't have to bend until you break
You just have to get up, get up, get up, get up
You don't have to change a single thing
~x~
Wrapped in nothing but a towel, Miranda took her time with the removal of her makeup, with a small smile gracing her lips.
When she first started to wear makeup daily, she had learned rather quickly to be careful with her face to ensure it was cleansed, exfoliated, toned and moisturised properly. She now used the best products money could buy, no longer having to worry over the costs of maintaining herself to the standards expected of her.
Earlier that evening, after she and Andréa had returned to her suite and she had prepared herself and assisted the brunette in finding something suitable to wear from the various samples provided, the younger woman had once again seen her bare-faced and she had claimed she had a striking natural beauty that shone through. She didn't truly know if she believed it, but she was extraordinarily flattered by the genuine and heartfelt compliment offered.
Their evening together after that had been surprising. She'd made calls to offer her apologies and skipped the final after-show parties, choosing instead to take Andréa, who was no longer her assistant, out to dinner. There had been a few fashionable people at the popular eatery they appeared at. Everyone was looking to relax and eat good food, before heading to the various gatherings.
Admittedly, the sight of them together, with her hand, placed proprietarily on the younger woman's back, had caused some raised eyebrows, especially since news of the divorce had broken that evening, but it wasn't as if she cared a fig what any one of those people said and they had all averted their gazes quickly enough when she had lowered her sunglasses and glared furiously in their direction.
She started to brush out her hair, unsurprised when it softened and curled further over her eyebrow. She was looking forward to bathing, to being surrounded by beautifully scented heated water that would leave her relaxed enough to sleep. Turning to the large tub, she began running the water and added bath salts before moving on bare feet to her bedroom to gather nightwear.
Upon her return to the steamy ensuite, the large mirror caught her attention and she moved towards it. As she stared at the fogged glass, she was surprised to see a heart engraved into the glass where her face was. There was writing above and below the heart, standing crystal clear in the glass in a vaguely familiar cursive.
Look in the mirror!
Take a deep breath and smile!
Do you see how beautiful you are?
You should!
There had only been one person in her bathroom, other than housekeeping. She smiled widely and shook her head. "What am I going to do with you, Andréa Sachs?" She whispered.
She thought back to their dinner and found herself marvelling over her date's unusual honesty. Andréa was so beautiful and engaging and for the first time, in a long time, she found herself stimulated by a conversation, there was no pretence or ego, just the usual sensitivity and tenderness of the woman she could see herself coming to love.
Stepping away from the vanity, she turned to the tub and twitched off the faucet. She tested the water with her toes and hissed in satisfaction before letting the large towel fall and stepping fully into the water. Lowering herself, she eased herself back and closed her eyes.
Andréa had spoken of her struggle with her confidence, particularly around her appearance. "I'm so tired of trying to fit in and be liked, Miranda. I'm tired of feeling like I'm not thin enough or pretty enough. It's like I need to look a certain way or do certain things to be accepted and I'm not kidding when I say I'm done with trying to be something I'm not. It feels like I am fighting a battle I'll never win."
In return, she spoke of how her perfectionism had controlled her life, often revealed in her hair, make-up, and clothing and her desire to always look her best. She hesitantly admitted that she felt the need to go to great lengths to improve upon her image. Deep down, she felt she wasn't adequate as she was. "I am not exaggerating when I say that over the years, I have slowly succeeded in attaining an outward pretence of self-respect and confidence, but it is rare that someone sees beyond my outward appearance and sees value in me."
She had taken the time to convince Andréa that she did not have to change a single thing about herself. As far as she was concerned, as long as she was healthy, happy and confident in who she was, she could stop caring so much about whether other people liked her or not. The last thing she ever wanted was the other woman to struggle the way she had, continually doubting herself.
She wondered if, given time, she could relax and learn to like herself a little more. She had a willingness and determination to find the courage to grab happiness and step towards a future she had only ever dreamed about.
Andréa's final words that evening filtered through her mind. "You are good enough, and so am I." She pressed her lips against her cheek softly. "And just so you know, I really like you." She stepped away, ready to head back to her suite, throwing her a wide, megawatt smile at her over her shoulder.
~x~
Take your make-up off
Let your hair down
Take a breath
Look into the mirror, at yourself
Don't you like you?
Cause I like you
~x~