When I looked at her, I saw nothing of particular value.
She was odd looking. Countless imperfections and her features were…’off’. Her hair was average, at best, and she never really had any idea of what to do with it. She could straighten it, but it was never particularly straight. She could leave it wild and natural, but it was never the glossy curls the other girls had.
She could be loud…out spoken…Just a ruse, really. A facade to pretend she didn’t really care what she looked like. Or maybe to make sure she was actually noticed…either way…
When I looked at her I felt endless pity. She so desperately wanted to be ‘pretty’.
People paid her compliments, but she never believed them. Hell, I paid her compliments, but she never believed me either. She’d smile and say thank you (on a good day), she’d laugh and call them liars (on a bad day).
I could look into her eyes and see so much sadness. Oh, she masked it well, and if you didn’t know her as well as I do, you could be forgiven for thinking she was doing just fine…but I knew she wasn’t…not really.
Over the years, so much has changed, and so little at the same time. She doesn’t look the same anymore. Don’t get me wrong, nothing has changed about her features, her face, even her hair (except perhaps she is a little more adept at styling it now), but she looks completely different.
Maybe it’s a maturity thing. Maybe I grew up, and perhaps I don’t look for beauty in the same way I once did. Maybe it’s because she removed herself from all the negative and surrounded herself with positive, and that darkness no longer casts shadows on her face to make her look…’distorted’. Who knows…
She still has bad days, but they don’t pull her down anymore. Everyone has bad days. And on a good day, those countless imperfections are barely visible.
But one thing is for certain; that girl…in the mirror…she doesn’t look sad anymore.