Why Can't I Be Her?

A shy tap of her toe sends ripples across the surface of the lake. As the tiny waves settle, her reflection becomes clear. She is stunningly beautiful. Her strawberry blonde hair glistening as the sun’s rays dance across her blemish-free skin and settle into the crevasse of her cupid’s bow. “Whatta bitch!” blurted out my mouth as I quickly covered it with my hands, trying to catch the words. How dare she be so... so... perfect.

Why can’t I be her?

Sitting here, watching her, and waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting for what? Oh, I don’t know. Waiting until she does something. Waiting to learn her secrets. Waiting to see her break! Surely, she can’t be so flawless. Can she? Either way, I’ll be here- waiting. Waiting and watching.

Why can’t I be her?

She begins to dance, and I am a hawk. Watching. I watch as she elegantly glides across the dancefloor. What a sight she is to behold in her gown of splendor! The lights of the ballroom illuminating her every curve, as if the light’s reflection was made just for her.

Why can’t I be her?

A strikingly handsome fellow approaches her. It would be an understatement to say he is the best-looking man in the room. The universe? I watch as they embrace on the veranda, fitting just as a puzzle would. I’m forced to watch for hours. I wonder to myself, “Is this what falling in love looks like?”

Why can’t I be her?

Now I see her at the park with her picturesque children in tow. They sure do look like her. They are the portrait of perfection, and I couldn’t be more jealous. Now I am a chameleon and my skin morphs green with envy as I watch them play and sing. With their perfect pitch and every step on point- never a cause to furrow a brow. I tell myself it is an act, but there is no proof of that. Still, I watch onward.

Why can’t I be her?

There she prances in her charming home. She is a mastermind of a homemaker, a domestic engineer. I bet the place smells delicious. The fresh baked bread on display, and a golden bird that has just come from the oven. There is a crisp on the roasted bird’s breast and a drip that screams, “I’m fucking delish!” I spy around to see the counters are clean. Not a dish out of place, or a speck of dirt in sight. How can she be so quick to tidy? She must have stolen Hermes’ shoes, or perhaps she is the spawn of the god himself.

Why can’t I be her?

Here we find the scene grows dark and cold as we near the end. I feel a shiver with each hair standing upon its end, prying for my attention. These dungeon walls have turned to brick, painted the same shade as the dank grey floors beneath. Silence lingers in the air as a light beam suddenly pierces down from above. Fluorescent hum, buzzing. Startled by it I swing and then a SMASH. A metal tray crashes to the floor, and I catch a glimpse of my reflection. I see the girl, the one I watched, and I realize, I have forgotten. Her face is mine from a time when belief and hope held strong. Completely focused on perfection, had led to a fixation, and a past that is long gone.

She feels the straps which hold her back and she cries in her confusion. A life wasted longing for a dream. Instead of gratitude for what she had, completely lost in her delusion. From her cage we hear her scream, “WHY CAN’T I BE HER?!”