It has been many years since I’ve looked at my own reflection. The last time I did I punched the mirror until it glass fell to the floor like raindrops. Whatever I had seen, wasn’t me. I know myself, or at least I think I do. I can feel the soft curves of my face, and the way my cheeks dimple in when I smile. When I purse my lips I can tell they’re plump, but gentle. I may not be the walking example of Eve, but I know that I am beautiful.

But, if my hands stay on my skin for too long, my mind grows confused. I know my face is round, but my hands feel jagged bones that pop from my jaw. Fuzz grows from places it doesn’t belong, and something lumpy is rising from somewhere on my forehead.

I can’t take it anymore, I have to look, I have to know what I look like. But then again, when I look it into the mirror, I feel someone else.

His face, like a chiseled stone is wide and jagged. His lips, akin to mine, are large yet his spark intimidation, and over his top lip hair sprouts like leaves on a chia pet.

But now I see it what I’ve been feeling all along, my, I mean his lump. A large, hairy brown mole was crawling out of his head. I take a deep breath, half expecting it to fall off his forehead and claw its way toward me.

I turn my head sideways, testing the mirrors reflexes, but the man across from me passes. I jump twice, and lead into a spin, my back facing the mirror. As my view creeps over my shoulder and back at the mirror, I can see the man on the other side doing the exact same thing. Our bewildered expressions the same, the fuzzy patches on our neck itching, and that damn mole, just sitting there mocking us.

This can’t be right. Who is this brutish figure looking at me? Is this who I am? Who I’m meant to be? Maybe the way I feel isn’t the same as the way I feel.

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