𝗜 𝗔𝗠 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 ↬ 𝗡𝗘𝗪𝗧 𝗙𝗙 [EN]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐

𝑆𝑂𝑀𝐸𝑇𝐼𝑀𝐸𝑆 𝐼𝑇 𝐹𝐸𝐸𝐿𝑆 𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸 𝐼'𝑉𝐸 𝐺𝑂𝑇 𝐴 𝑊𝐴𝑅 𝐼𝑁 𝑀𝑌 𝑀𝐼𝑁𝐷

𝐼 𝑊𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐴 𝐺𝐸𝑇 𝑂𝐹𝐹, 𝐵𝑈𝑇 𝐼 𝐾𝐸𝐸𝑃 𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐸

𝐼 𝑁𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑅 𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐿𝐿𝑌 𝑁𝑂𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐸𝐷 𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑇 𝐼 𝐻𝐴𝐷 𝑇𝑂 𝐷𝐸𝐶𝐼𝐷𝐸

𝑇𝑂 𝑃𝐿𝐴𝑌 𝑆𝑂𝑀𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐸'𝑆 𝐺𝐴𝑀𝐸, 𝑂𝑅 𝐿𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝑀𝑌 𝑂𝑊𝑁 𝐿𝐼𝐹𝐸

𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝑁𝑂𝑊 𝐼 𝐷𝑂, 𝐼 𝑊𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐴 𝑀𝑂𝑉𝐸

𝑂𝑈𝑇 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐵𝐿𝐴𝐶𝐾

𝐼𝑁𝑇𝑂 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐵𝐿𝑈𝐸

- 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑦, 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒

◦•●◉✿✿◉●•◦

WEEKS had passed since Melanie had gotten into the argument with that Glader. As a result, most people stayed away from her or gave her a scrutinizing look as they passed.

If so, I felt like I was being watched before, so she simply tried to play it down and, if possible, accept it as it was. To accept what was out of her hands and to change it.

Like every morning before breakfast, she ran to the washroom. It was a very special time for her, being alone in a room where no one could come. As the only girl, she had a separate washroom. Who knew what bad things might have been prevented as a result.

She stood in front of the large mirror and took a long look at herself in it. First her narrow face, which was surrounded by her light brown hair, and her greenish eyes, which sometimes appeared gray.

Am I beautiful and just don't feel that way? Or do I feel this way because I'm just not beautiful?

They were often tormented by thoughts and questions that withered into a sadness that made them unhealthy and made them sick in the long run. Because it's always easier to follow negativity because it tears the ground from under your feet and if you can't stand, you're not able to run away.

When are you perceived as perfect? What makes someone perfect anyway? Where can an original definition of perfection be found?

She ran a little through her hair and continued to look at her face, now from one side, now from the other, then down over her entire body. And it wasn't until her top was damp that she realized that that pressure behind her eyelids were tears that had now dripped onto her shirt.

She quickly brushed them aside with a few fingers, not liking the feeling that arose in her chest.

Melanie didn't know what to think, only one thing she was sure of was that she wasn't perfect. Otherwise she wouldn't be so scared or have these strange nightmares.

On a good day, she was more likely to hate what she saw in puddles. In mirrors, in glasses and her secateurs. So much unfounded hatred that a girl harbored against herself made her perfect soul a shade darker.