The details are printed into my memory. Each dress, each wish and each tiny detail. Each imperfection that she covers up, I have seen. I love those imperfections. That is what makes her, her. Her life makes mine. Except, I don’t want my life to be like hers is, now. When she was younger, she loved her toy doll, Max. She used to play with him everyday after school, combing his hair, taking him on bike rides... Now, he sits abandoned on the top of the bookshelf and looks at her with his yellow button eyes.
She likes me more now. More than Max. I wish she still loved Max. She has changed, but not in a good way. She is always sitting in front of me staring at me. I don’t like it like that. I wish she would stop looking at me. She is a nice person, a very nice person. She treats her younger sister with respect. She is kind to new people. She looks after her pet dog with love. She remembers everyone’s ups, but not their downs. She remembers everyone’s, except her own.
‘I grew tired of her disappointment every time she stared into my soul. She hated what she saw. After school each day she raced into her room, threw her bag on the unmade bed and opened the window. It didn't matter what was happening. Her Confirmation, dinner with the family or even netball practice. She would put on an elephant sized amount of makeup, groaning all the time about what she saw. Layer upon layer she would pack it on. Colour upon colour. Trying to make it magazine perfect. It was then I decided to make a plan. A plan by the end of which she would stop with the makeup, stop with the celebrities and think of herself as ... Beautiful.
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