Distorted Reality

 

My handwriting is miniscule, like size 6 font. I like to pretend that it makes my words invisible. I like to believe that, somehow, by using microscopic letters, my words will only be mine—impossible to be used against me.

My self-esteem isn’t that high.

I am my own worst enemy and worst critic. Rusty car doors are symbols of my insecurities. I believe in fairy tale love way more than I should, which causes me to fall in love way too easily. I think people should fall in love during the small moments. What’s more revealing than what happens when they think no oneis watching? The way they are lost in thought, turn the page of a book, absent-mindedly scratching an invisible itch, smiling at a remembered moment are the most beautiful moments.

I believe that the eyes are the windows to the soul; but I believe that mine reveal so much more. I believe that smiling is the best way to trick you into being happy. I have been told I have a nice smile.  I have also been told that I need to smile more.

I read too much. I fall in love with fictional characters as I am transported to another world, living vicariously through my favorite characters.

I believe that everybody deserves a shot, and that everybody is capable of doing something great.

I think that when I’m in love, or am nervous, my stomach sacrifices a butterfly to my mouth as I embarrass myself.

I trust too easily. And sometimes the monsters that used to be under my bed manifest themselves in people around me. I believe empty promises, kind words, and pretty faces as they offer a hand. I take it too quickly, without turning their palm over to see if they have claws.

When I look at faucets, my face bends and reflects at seemingly impossible angles. By the time it once again reaches my retina, it is contorted and distorted beyond recognition. This faucet is where my image of myself comes from.

Smooth mirrors reflect back exactly what is.

My self-esteem isn’t that high. I think I look at faucets too often.

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