The Girl Behind Those Glasses. 

I saw her at the coffee shop I walk into when I feel the need to look like someone who needs a hit of caffeine while she sat there drowning in an old paperback looking like she belonged.  I saw her at the music concert I’d been dying to get into as she jumped and screamed and thrashed about to the exact same songs I play on my iPod everyday while I just stood there, awkwardly knocked around, hiding behind the rest of them. I saw her at that ridiculously tiring trek adventurous-me dragged lazy-me to. I’d paused halfway, hands on my knees, eyes heavenward, scratching out mentally activities that are closely associated with trekking from my to-do list while she seemed beautifully lost in some realm I could not see. I saw her at my favorite restaurant, where I order food that makes me sound fancy while she picks staples that make her tummy smile. I saw her taking a bus to where I was going, adjusting her huge, brown-rimmed glasses, wearing my favorite watch and humming my favorite song with everyone else (my conscience included) staring at her, while I settled into my uncomfortable seat with my headphones blaring and discomfort than usual. I watched her, almost enviously, laugh her loud, throaty laugh while I hid behind a giggle. I saw her standing tall before hatred and abuse while I cowered beneath hateful love and false praise. I envied her strength every moment I felt weak, envied her heart over my mind. I saw her scream into the ears and chastise the eyes of those whose gaze I avoided trembling. I watched as she raised her voice when I held my silence, watched her fight when I mourned within the confines of my shackles. I stared in utter disbelief when she threatened to fly when I could barely crawl, gawked at her dreams because I had already buried mine. 

So today, when I saw her, I walked up to the mirror in my room and began by removing my lenses and wearing those ugly, brown-rimmed spectacles I should’ve never once taken off. 

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