You're at the top of my lungs

I stood in front of my mirror at home. It was dark outside, nearly midnight, and my parents sleeping. The bathroom light was the only light on in the house.

I stood in front of the full length mirror, but I was staring at my feet, avoiding the girl in the mirror. I was mad at her, and was putting off having to see her for as long as possible.

I let my gaze drift upwards to where the mirror started. An inch of my stomach was visible between my shorts and my tank top. I turned to the side, still gazing in to the mirror, to see my profile. I've lost weight, about 15 pounds since I started hgih school last year. But it was not good enough. No, it would not due. I am going to have to try harder.

My eyes slowly drift up to my chest, and I let my gaze keep rising upwards until I am staring at my chin. I let my eyes graze my lips, nose, cheeks.

I stop at the bags under my eyes, something I had usually covered up with make up, but had washed off after dinner when I went to have a shower. My gaze slowly travels upward, until I am staring at the blue colour of my eyes. I try to make my gaze, force my gaze, to travel upwards and stare directly in to my own pupils, directly in to the black hollowness, but I cannot do it. When I try, when I am about to hit the rim of the black, my gaze rebounds and hits the floor again.

I step away from the mirror and turn off the light. I slowly walk to my bedroom, being careful with each step, and I lay in my bed, pulling the blanket high over my head and burying my face in the pillow. I do not look back at the girl in the mirror.

Not once. I do not know if I will be able to do so ever again.

Title Credit to Taylor Swift's "Tied Together With A Smile"