I am at a loss for words when she tells me that she’s not pretty. I try to tell her how wrong she is but I’ve already been labeled a liar and I can already hear the words passing through my lips and fading into the air like a plea of “not guilty”. I realize I’m not equipped for this. I’ve never known how to reassure people. I have such strong, misguided opinions on things, and all these high, impossible expectations for myself. Am I vain because I look in the mirror and search for a piece of myself to hold onto that feels real and right and pretty? I guess I judge other people, too. But I’ve never looked at her and wondered what parts were real. I’ve never wondered what she would look like if her nose was different, if her arms were different, if her lips were different, if her voice was different. It took me a while to realize that when I sit near her, I feel a person next to me. It was such a strange and new feeling. She turns her head towards me as she leaves a room and I understand why people start wars for women. But she’s already labeled me a liar and the moment has passed, and I can’t very well say all of this out loud. I don’t know what she thinks about me, but she rolls her eyes when I try to say what I feel and darts a doubting glare towards my confessions of insecurity all because I know how to hold a conversation with people on the street and I barely fill out a size 10. How funny, the one person who feels more to me like an actual person than anyone else doesn’t make me feel like one.