Her life was painfully average-her grades, her family, her thoughts, her routines, but to me, she was 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭. At first, I liked that she never bothered me, I liked when she was around, and then I started 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 when she wasn't. Somewhere along the way, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 became 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 , 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 became 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, and I stopped remembering why her life was supposed to 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭 separately from 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞.