She’s beautiful, no doubt about it… but she could never find the self-esteem to quit makeup, cold turkey. Never seemed to find a proper substitute or a way around it. Personally, I think she’s doing just fine—not perfect, but she’s getting by. What I like most about her is what’s derived from her mind. Pretty little skull of hers has a knack for storytelling and spoken word; she has a lot of time. But short glances at her reflection in the mirror almost serve as land mines, obstacles to her own existence. Insecurities with an impressive persistence. She tends to have a lot of moments of mind’s silence—I guess she just needs someone to listen.
I feel like I have this connection with her, like I know her as well as the back of my hand… but then I realize that sometimes even I forget what the back of my hand looks like. Sometimes to me she’s simply a stranger… I no longer recognize her reflection in the mirror. Particularly when she allows her vulnerabilities get the best of her, get to her and lets her strength falter.
Sometimes I feel awkward. Knowing what she knows, like I’m some stalker. Living life in her shadow, following her everywhere she goes, anticipating her reaction without ever really knowing… leaving it up to her to show me. At times I question if she even knows me. Unpredictable. Guessing games. No two things are ever the same.
I’ve witnessed her die inside many times over, reborn into a new person, consistently. It’s… different. Knowing her, and then not knowing her, and then getting to know her all over again. It’s a mystery, really. Being a stranger in one’s own body. Multifaceted diamond, different every time you look at her, depending on where the light hits.
It’s interesting encountering yourself within yourself, living alongside your mind in a separate body, seeing yourself as a different person,splitting yourself up into two different mentalities… because that girl is me.
I’m simply the conscience… what lives inside of her.