My hands are wet and cold, and still I can see **_her_**. The broken mirror falls around it’s own corroded base and I slide down the wall, reserving myself to sit with my head buried in my knees once again, but the mirror is still there, the top shattered off and the glass now uneven, but still I see **her** in front of me all the same.

The blood falls from my fingers and yet I see **her**, cradling the same blood soaked hands that I wrap around myself. I look at **her** and all I see is myself, warped, broken, confused, and scared.

**She** shares my wounds and I share **her** eyes and that’s what I wanted to end with this, that’s all I really wanted to end. all I wanted was to stop looking in the mirror and seeing the **girl** who I’ll always be. But I don’t, I don’t want to be **her** anymore,_ i don’t really think I ever was_.

I don’t want to bare **her** eyes or **her** hair or **her** smile. It hurts, it burns, more than the looks, more than the threats, more than my own broken glass tearing through my flesh.

Really, I don’t want this to end here, _please_,I want to say I’m sorry I want to tell that little **girl** forever in my head that I’ll fix everything, I want to tell **her** that I know why **she** always felt different, and never felt whole, and I want to tell **her** I can make it better, but I know I can’t.

I need someone to tell me it’s okay, I need whoever I am in the next five years to tell me if i stop seeing her, or if I ever get to explain to the kid i once was.

- 🏳️‍⚧️ I wrote this less than a minute before I go to sleep I’m dyslexic and don’t have time to re read rn so pls don’t be too mean