They see their greatness in me and take pride in themselves. Why shouldn't they? I did nothing to help them mould the world into their dreams - that was all them.

They see their flaws in me with disgust as if I am a piece of reality too distasteful to face. Some look closer to verify if I really am that horrid. Such a preconception can rarely be overturned.

Then one solitary morning, I stood strong and true reflecting the soft Summer sun split by the blinds. The rays walk down the wall. Being a part of nature isn't too bad on a day like today. A caucus and door-slam later, a young girl storms into the room with tear-filled eyes. I do not want to be alone with her - an adult should come in to say the right thing. No scorned soul has ever been improved by me before. Yet today that changed.

She turns to me. Tears dried and of some new composure. Although she pitied me - she clearly respected me and thought I was beautiful and full of potential. Actually, I think she might be looking at me, like myself this time. The girl opens the antique, non-rolling drawer to pull out a black sharpie. She uncaps it and cocks her head at me. Wait, wait, wait - that will not come off! I may be tortured but at least I have been flawless thus far. She writes on me and smirks.

Enough lonely sunrises and sunsets pass that I do not instinctively think about my new blemishes when I hear commotion, but it is usually my second or third thought. Doom and a dumpster are not far away but at least no one has visited me since the girl. Then a old man shuffles in and notices me. He leans in to squint at my flaw... He makes eye contact and smiles.