Confessions from the Other Side

Hey there,
I know you don't expect this (how could anyone?) but I just couldn't help myself. I've been watching you for such a long time I can't even remember when I started. Truth is, I've probably seen you everyday for as long as our heart has been beating; I've seen you grow up, seen you cry, seen you love, and I've seen you hate- but that's not what I'm writing to you about. Not your story, but the truth. At the end of this I hope you'll understand why I'm even writing in the first place.

We've come a long way you and I. I always chuckle when I remember those light moments that we had- well, maybe the ones that you had anyway. You see, all I've ever done is watch you from not too far. Don't get me wrong though, I am not obsessed with you, you're just the only thing I have to be there for all day, everyday. Back on point (I have this terrible habit of losing focus every now and then. You should know know), what makes me write at this time is that all these happy memories have been history- and for quite some time now.

It started slowly at first, and then it poured like a torrent. I'd catch glimpses of you pretending to smile, or hiding a tear, or saying things I know you wouldn't say. How do I know? Because I know you. Not the "you" you're painting a picture of, the REAL you. The one I miss so much, and the one I hope will listen.

Years went by and you grew up some more as the clock ticked away life while you changed, trying ever so diligently to change how I look. Here's a fact: I can watch you even when you can't see me, so you can't hide from me. Not now, and neither after this. If only you could see things from my side- then you'd see how smudged the portrait you're painting is. Behind that pitiful excuse for who you're trying to be I can see those silent frowns so plainly, as well as that gaping hole in your soul (by the way, you try to fill that hole but nothing works, yes? It's because you try to fill it with things from other parts of the same soul, and all you end up with are fresh new holes to fill up with more emptiness) - sorry, that happened again. Oh yes, holes in your soul. You can't paint over those, however hard you try, so just put your brush down and stop. Just stop. You and the rest of those other smudged paintings should stop trying. Honestly. Sometimes I think I'm the only one who knows what's real and what isn't - the irony.

I've seen time and time again how you think you've found something that may work and you try it on only to be disappointed at the outcome of your efforts to change me. I just HATE how you do that. I'm the one who has to look at you every passing day! YOU should be the one writing to me about searching for the real things in life! (I have just this one time to write, might as well pour it all out). I'll cut this short,I don't much like writing anyway. Never been any good at it- you should know. I just want you to look at me and not look away for once. Just find me- you always can- and look at me. Look really hard and stop trying to repaint me. I'm perfect, and all you're doing is destroying who we are. Yes- "we". I still care about you, you know. The real you. So please, put your brushes away, and let's just be friends again.

An observer from the other side,
Your reflection.