Cleaning out the drafts folder. This one is from 2020.
There is a person who blatantly stares at me. Usually uncomfortable by such attention, I’m used to her curious eyes now. She’s really pretty. Her smile is her best feature – it sprouts two dimples when in full bloom. Her eyes are a quiet shade of blue that light up when she laughs. Her hair is long and shiny and perfect shades of honey and late summer wheat.
I imagine she’s looking at my large pores or the chip in my tooth. I bet she immediately noticed the hint of a double chin and the second-day hair that smells bad underneath the guise of dry shampoo. She probably can’t help but study the hideous ‘skin-colored’ mole thing on my cheek.
I expect my reflection to be plain and disheveled. I’m rather thankful I don’t recognize this person in the mirror. I’d prefer to only know that I’m beautiful on the inside and remained surprised each time I look in the mirror.
It’s a strange dichotomy to have such a disparate image of oneself.
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