I cannot be her. I cannot be better than her.
Maybe you prefer brown hair over blonde. Or green eyes over blue, but I cannot be that.
She has skin like silk and a body like an hourglass. She spends hours getting ready to make her appearance cover the fact there is nothing else to her.
I will not try to be that. I do not want to be that.
There are days that I don’t like myself and days that I doubt every piece of me. But I have love for who I am. I have love for my light blonde hair that reaches the arch of my back and I have love for the blue eyes that remind everyone of clear oceans and I have love for the contradiction that is my existence in the way I’m constantly changing how people perceive me the harder they look into who I am.
I may not be in love with myself yet, but I have enough love for myself to realize that trying to be anyone else would be a mistake.
“I just can’t wait to forget how much it hurts,” she said. My little sister, 17 and naive and so in love, had woken me up at 2am, crying because her boyfriend had broken up with her. “I never want to remember what I’m feeling right now.”
I pet her hair back as her head laid in my lap. “But you will remember it,” I told her. “You always will. Even ten years from now, when three other boys have come and gone since him, you will remember it. Because this is the only time you will have believed every word he said. This is the only time your whole heart will get involved. This is the only time you will be blindsided.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll remember this pain for the rest of your life. But pain is natural. It’s how we protect ourselves.”