I’m afraid when I really do let you go, I’ll start missing you.

When I look into the mirror, I see nothing.

I see imperfection, I see things that I need to improve on, I see tears, I see pain, I see frozen memories, I see things I wish I could do, I see things I wish I did to change a certain situation, I see him, I see my family, I see my future, I see my death, I see why I’m different from others, I see why I failed to achieve in certain situations, I see fake situations I make up that I replace instead of the real memory.

I see, imperfection.

I try to fix the imperfectness.

I change the way I look, I change the situation I imagined, I put different people and see their perspective, I ask people, but then this fixing would just last a day, or 5 minutes.

Nothing stays permanently.
The imperfectness would cause me to think of more, horrible things.

It makes me think of the past, and at every glance of the mirror I get, every flashback I don’t want to come back, returns and haunts me, for however long it likes.

It comes in the form of, a physical object from the memory, a song, the person that was from the memory, the memory itself, and countless others.
I’m not saying I enjoy being like this, but this is just how I really am, when I’m by myself. I think, I imagine, I regret, I cry.