Dear Image in the Mirror,
How I hate you so. You who lack substance, and of little consequence. You who frolic about in your two-dimension-light-dependent world. You know not the suffering of the corporeal world, to you everything is just a mirage. You could look like crap and not feel any worse for wear because of it; whereas I... I would feel the blunt of it. Every morning, I have to get up and look at you... and golly gee I wish there is someone else more beautiful, more wholesome to look at than you. What good are you? A mime, a doppelganger, a charlatan. You are more worthless than my shadow, at least that follows me around wherever I go.
Ah, but perhaps I am being too harsh. Perhaps there is use for you yet. Perhaps you can smile at me more often, perhaps you can remind me of my existence. Perhaps you can stare deep within me, and allow me to see through your eyes. Show me my many faces, let me know of my masks; which ones to keep, which ones to toss. I can add dimension to your perception.
Make a funny face, make me laugh. Mimic my every expression, my every move, so that I know at least someone thinks me worthy a role model to follow. Show me what is ugly about me, show me what is nice, show me how to control my features, show me how to master you. Show me that when I cry, I cry not alone, for my tears are on my face as they are on yours. At the end of the day, help me to be a better person, for if you can be what I pretend to be, than I too can perfect my act, and grow into my many roles.
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