She places herself perfectly in the middle of the room. Everyone’s eyes are drawn to her. She’s a force of nature; a lovely exotic flower.
I am not her.
She was created somewhere far away within the galaxies above. She sparkles and she shines even with darkness around her.
I am not her.
Her life looks effortlessly attained. The perfect contouring of her face and the shimmer in her eyes. People look in at her as if she is a diamond sparkling in a display case.
I am not her.
She is vulnerable yet guarded. Her sense of humor is unmatched, but she is reserved and dignified. She is everything I didn’t know was possible. An embodiment of paradoxes and perfectly imperfect.
I am not her.
She is courageous in the midst of adversity. Her story is complicated, but beautiful beyond anything hanging in an art gallery. She is a fine art undiscovered.
I am not her.
She is the loveliest friend, most patient mother, and adored wife. Each role she plays is perfectly balanced. She is a master of all trades.
I am not her.
She is elegant, but simple. Her fears are great, but she has conquered them all.
I am not her.
She is unfiltered. She’s perfect.
I am not her.
Yet, I look harder and deeper. I pause as I scroll and look within my own heart. I am not her, but she is not who I think she is. Behind the lens, the filters, the facade–she is me and I am her.
Perfection doesn’t exist.
I am imperfect.
She is imperfect.
We are each living a story untold.
