Every time I look in the mirror, I see only a girl with short, frizzy hair. I see only a girl with a round face, slightly-pointed nose, imperfect eyebrows, brown, large eyes, long lashes, and pale lips.
If I looked emotionally, I see only a girl whose universe belonged to the fictional one. A girl whose infatuation was to guys who only exist in books, in her imagination.
I see only a shy girl.
I see only a girl who does not show her emotions to most people.
I see only a girl who has cried over possibilities that never happened.
When I'm with my close friends, they see a girl who's never much of a fun one. They see a girl who's the most serious among the bunch, yet they see also a girl who they can rely on when they need a shoulder to cry on. I'm not bragging. They see a girl whose problems are only about school. What they don't see is the girl who cries at night, thinking that she's not happy at home. That she never was, or maybe never will.
To people from social media, whom I've never met in person, they see only a fangirl.
They see a girl who has the same interests as them.
That's it.
But, to those whom I've befriended, they see only a girl who lives on the other side of the globe. A writer, a reader, a teenager. A boring teenager, might I say.
To the boy I talked to for at least a week, he saw only a girl who bothered him every time she got the chance because she felt an attachment to him, even though there was none.
He saw only a girl, who for once, had the same desire as others: to meet a boy that she thought would be with her for a long time.
Right after this, I'd look in the mirror, I'd see a girl whose heart is almost shattering. I'd see a girl with wild thoughts, deep thoughts.
Then, I'd see tears fall down her cheeks.