“I think I just met the happiest person alive!” She exclaimed. I nod along though her words do not reach my ears. She is wrong. She has not met the happiest person alive. I have. Still I let her talk. “Their smile never dropped, they danced around and shouted!” She says excitedly. Her words do not penetrate my brain. The happiest person I have met, well her smile was almost made of gold. She would coat her lips in lipgloss and look over at me and giggled as I messed my lipstick up from how awestruck I was. She never needed alcohol to dance at the club. Her smile looked as if it was sculpted by the gentle hands of Aphrodite. Her eyelashes long like a beam of sunlight. Her voice like a drop of honey, smooth and thick but also sweet. She had the body of a goddess and a song that sounded like one Apollo sings in the morning. Still she sits in front of me and continues to tell me about the happiest person alive. Not knowing that the happiest person alive lived in her mirror.