ame.de.verre

Why can't you see yourself the way that I do?

You're beautiful in every way, a perfection that nothing could replace. I tell you every day how much I love you, the curves of your body, the smiles we share when you parade yourself in front of me in a new dress or outfit just bought. I love the funny faces and goofy looks you make whenever you glance at me in passing, and I watch you out of the corner of my eye when you think you're alone, and you do the same. You're beautiful. How could I not love you with all of myself?

I've always been there for you, and I always will be. When you can't live with yourself and you fall to your knees in front of me, and lift your hand up to mine, I'm there. Even if only in the brush of our fingertips. I cry with you, trying to convey the truth of what you will not see in me. But my gentle words of admiration and comfort always fall on deaf ears. You will hate me no matter how much I love you, no matter how much I scream my love for you, and bash my hands on the fragile wall between our differing perspectives until they are bloody and sore.

You often peer at me critically, searching for every tiny flaw, every fault that will allow you to hate me all the more. I do not mind. It gives me a chance to watch and examine the loveliness of each expression, up close, with our noses almost touching… even the negative ones. The cute way your forehead wrinkles when you're deep in thought, the dimples when you find something you like about me and flash a split second smile. I love everything about you. And everything about you is inexplicably and exquisitely beautiful. Every little hair that won't stay in place, every extra pound where you say there ought not to be one, every sun kissed freckle, every bent and chipped nail that makes you who you are. You call these things ugly, and you say I am ugly as well, and there's no way you could ever love me.

And I find myself jealous of you. You have so much to offer: your beauty, your smiles. But you can't see any of it because of your obsession with my faults; because of the shadow my perceived ugliness casts over you. I will always love you, and to me you will never be anything but beautiful. You have to listen to me, you must hear my words. But I cannot speak for you. You have the body, and you have the life. I'm just a reflection in a mirror. A soul in a piece of glass that knows you better than you know yourself.