Lately, when I look at my reflection,
it feels like someone else looking back.
I'm staring into the depths of my bathroom mirror at a shell of a person.
Alive and living but with none of the hobbies and plans that gave her that glimmer in her eyes.
No excitement, no anticipation for the future,
just memories, and even those are falling from her grasp.

It's like the world has been paused.
She's like the main character of the show you watched a couple of episodes of and swore you'd go back to and watch the rest but never did.
She's unfinished. Waiting for someone, something to press play.
There must be some more storyline to get to.
She's begging you for the chance.

Begging you to let her go out and get drunk in the middle of her town and kiss a random bloke she's never met before.
To let her stumble into the bathroom of her favourite pub and try her best to console a girl she's never met before that's crying over her boyfriend not giving her any attention.
To let her sit in the passenger seat of her best friends' Mini Cooper shouting the lyrics to some song that reminds her of her ex.
To go back to her family members and hug them three times as hard.
Begging you to let her live.
Because this... This isn't living.
This is existing.