Lies. Lies, every time he smiled at me, those hazel eyes shining. Lies when he laughed at my lame jokes. Lies when he said it would last. He lied to me, the one person I've ever loved.
My life seems to have a pattern, begun at my birth. Perfection, nothing less. I'm smart- I've talked since I was one, I've been able to write since I was three, and I've always loved to read.
Then, when I met him, everything started to change.
I was perfect, keeping up my comfortable facade. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect grades.
Yet I'm not perfect. No one is.
I fell more and more in love with him. Every thought was about him, every dream his. I swore he'd be mine, even if it took everything.
As perfection, I would not be happy unless I had the perfect being of my first love.
I grew anxious and depressed. Not getting the only thing I had ever really wanted was wearing down my soul, and I hated it. Late at night, I'd stare up at the ceiling and think of him. Every love song made me picture his face. When I saw him, my heart lept in joy. Truly, I had never felt this way before.
My perfection was disappering. My sights had been locked between two things- the boy I had come to love, and my writing. Consequently, I failed the subjects I didn't like.
My mom wasn't thrilled.
Grounded week after week, I started to resent my life and the things that made it so unpleasant. Who cared about being perfect, anyway? It's all a lie, to make us more compliant, to blind us to the harsh reality all around us, fixing us on the problems they show us.
We are not perfect, I knew.
Eventually, the boy I sought for so long became mine. Yet I was still not happy. Then I realized it- by getting the one thing I really wanted, I had hurt myself and my family. He wasn't worth it. No one is worth such a heavy price.
Yet I loved him so! But eventually, my mom pried us apart. Now I live here, he does not. I have gone back to trying to be perfect- perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect grades.
Perfect. What an illusion.