Cinderella

You are my mother’s daughter.

The perfect embodiment of everything a girl is meant to be.

Your makeup is always used lightly-- enough that your features remain unchanged but still with the basic enhancements. You hide your little insecuritites underneath but we all know that your perfection always remains regardless.

Your hair is always maintained and neat. It doesn't scream that you're trying too hard though. Your go to is always keeping it down or in a high ponytail. But that's not to be confused with the implication that you don't care because the highlights in your hair make it apparent that you're dressing up. But we all know it's for you, not anyone else.

Your clothing is simple with what I've always called the cliche of jeans. You're too good for the mainstream of leggings. But don't worry, it's not anything you've said that makes this a fact but rather the way you carry yourself. You're clever though. Because in this moment of supposed holier-than-thouness you've embraced crop tops and casual t-shirts making it imposible to hate you because it's oh-so-relatable.

But nothing, nothing, tops the perfection of your personality. It isn't that you are literally perfect but rather the fact that you try so hard to be so that makes it that way. You want to be the best person you possibly can be. You aren't satisfied with existing. You have this known desire to be the best. It's this fire I see in your eyes that it isn't enough being you in this present because you can become better for the future.

It's the same fire I used to have and now desire and covet more than anything. It's a will to live, a longing that the future still has hope. It is your brightness that drew me to you because I thought that being your friend would help me get close to the warmth and understanding ways of my past. But what I underestimated was how quickly the same fire could burn.

It's not your fault. It never could be. You are the striving to perfection that draws boys to your dorm door and girls to your side. You are shining brightly, brighter more than before. This is your fairytale and you are living it fearlessly.

I wanted to be your friend. A sister even. Of for fucks sake, I wanted to be you. But, unfortunately, there's only room for one princess in this tale. The glass slipper fits too big and the crown slips off. It was never meant to be my fit. So I sit and I clap as you enter this ball, just an unknown ugly step-sister you'll leave forgotten in your past.

You are Cinderella and this is your beautiful story.