There’s a girl in the mirror who wears my face. When I tell her to smile, she smiles. When I tell her to frown, she frowns. When I tell her to turn to the side, she does. And I envy her.

She wears my face, my clothes, and has my body shape. But there is no depth to her, she’s a mere reflection. With a simple glimpse, her appearance could tell a story.

In the morning, she is sleepy. Just waking up after her alarm goes off. She wears my pajamas, she has my dark circles, and she yawns desperate to go back to bed and hide.

In the afternoon, she is distracted by thoughts inside of her own head. She changes into comfortable clothing, my leggings and my sweaters. She turns her pale skin and dead eyes into a colorful masterpiece. She smiles as I smile, trying to make it through the day, as if the concealer would hide the fact that she cried herself to sleep.

In the evening, she wears my tired face. The fake smile is tossed aside and the make up is wiped away revealing the sadness that lives in her cheekbones.

All she is, is a reflection of myself and still, I wish to be her. She is only a version of me, but she is one that doesn’t have to feel the way that I feel. She gets to stand there and smile when I smile. And somehow, it sounds better.