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The Beast

As a little girl I dreamed of growing up to be just like Belle from Beauty and the Beast. I would crave into bed every night and cover my head with the silky bed sheets. Aware that everyone in the hollow house was dead-asleep, I would sneak out. I would tiptoe to the living room. I was a pro with the DVR, so I would sit on the couch happily watching the 90’s version of Beauty and the Beast.I was a dreamer.

I now stand in front of a mirror that supplies the reflection of a girl who has done everything but love herself. She has no hope but harsh criticism of herself. She wakes up everyday scared that might be the day. I see myself. Fear claws my blemished face and my plain eyes are filled with tears. I look into the tight stitches of my eyes and I see a stranger. I’m scared of her. She looks at me with apparent emotions. Weared off wrinkles lay beneath her eyes. Tears conquer her eyes and wet her clothes.

“What happened?” I ask her.

She looks at me as if I’m insane.

“I fell in love”.

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