Why did it have to be you ?

Why did it have to be you?

Had I been given a choice, I would have preferred someone taller, more attractive, or even more intelligent. My life is so difficult, and you always add to the weight.

Speaking of weight, as soon as I gain a pound, you can't help but make your pseudo- innocent smirks, saying, “And yet you bought that chocolate bar.” Your reproaches goround and round in my head to the point where I lose sleep. Like a Gemini cricketwho can't keep its mouth shut, who always has a quick comeback, morals on the tip of their tongue and, above all, a critical eye that relishes every time they're proven right. I'm tired of imagining your smug look and hearing “I told you so.” You always know better than everyone else, don't you?

Had I been given a choice, I wish I had the guts to lash out at you and shut you up once and for all. The big fat “SHUT UP” that you deserve. If only you knew how unbearable you are. A high-pitched voice that never seems to tire of hearing itself talk, a silly, truly detestable face, always with an air of superiority, but above all a whiff of stupidity that makes one wonder if the circuits are connected in that enormous skull of yours. You have the pallor of a corpse, the sweetness of a lemon, the interest of a rotten stump. Your ridiculous appearance leads you to believe, in complete mystery, that you have the slightest legitimacy to make comments.

Have you ever wondered why you're constantly left alone? Why groups don't want you around? It's because they're jealous, it's because they're too stupid for me, it's because they don't understand me—all these nice words to console yourself. The whole of humanity must be wrong, otherwise you can't be right. And yet when there's an event, you hear about it, before or after, but you're not invited. When stories appear, you're not in them. When references are made, you don't understand them because the joke was made without you. Always excluded, maybe deep down that's the reason for you taking revenge on me. You have to find an easy target to compensate for your pathetic frustration at not being loved.

Yet it's easy to fit in, as soon as you think about something other than yourself, your feelings, your fears, your emotions, and all the misinterpretations of a glance. But no, everything has to revolve around you. You can't shift the world away from your belly button, because you might realize that, deep down, no one cares about your existence. Nobody cares if you disappear tomorrow, if you shave your head tomorrow, if you make decisions that are the opposite of what you used to stand for tomorrow. Because deep down, nobody knows you, nobody wants to know you. They all believe something, but never your truth or reality.

Had I been given a choice, I too would like to abandon you. I don't want to see you, hear you, or put up with you every day anymore. Your terrible, meaningless life, with a new misfortune every morning, and your misfortune that prevails over that of others, with your new problems to feel sorry for and cling to when people accuse you of doing nothing with your shitty life.

Sometimes you manage to make me feel sorry for you. Sorry to see you lament and suffer on every little bump in the road. Why do you keep fighting if it's so hard? Why don't you just let go? It could all end, there are so many ways to do it, but you have this glimmer in your eyes, a faint flickering light that refuses to go out. Something that naively says, “It'll be okay, I can still hold on.” I don't understand. I don't know how to deal with your pain, I don't know how to deal with your hatred, I don't know how you can be so contradictory, having the strength to carry on but the weakness to fail at everything, constantly, every day. It's like watching a disaster unfold in slow motion, a vase breaking, convincing oneself that it can be repaired, ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times, but it breaks anyway, a little more violently each time, repairing itself however it can, a little less well each time, less and less a vase and more and more a shapeless mass that loses its meaning. And I am held hostage between all these contradictions, unable to understand what you really want in the midst of your misery. I feel so powerless in the face of all this. I can't help you, I don't know if I want to help you.

Had I been given a choice... I would have liked to stop seeing you suffer. Because all the horrible things you inflict on yourself and others are desperate cries for help from someone in agony, trying to convince themselves that there is still something they can do, even though they have been backed into a corner for so long, too long. Crushed by the passing of time, crushed by the crowd, crushed by their self-hatred. Someone who has stopped waiting for a helping hand, who tenses up when one is offered, convinced that they are about to be hit again. Without wondering whether it will be deserved or not, but deep down sure that if it happens, it's for a good reason, otherwise life would have stopped tormenting them by now, so if it happens again and again and again and again... it must be deserved. Because deep down, you are the anomaly, the mistake, the excess.

Had I been given a choice, I would have liked to be the one who could remind you of your good sides. I would have liked to be able to tell you about your qualities, to convince you of them, just so that you could improve yourself, firmly believing that you are not beyond redemption, just to stop seeing you sink into bitterness, despicability and disgust. I wished I could appreciate you. I wished that the first thing that came to mind wasn't everything I hate about you, that my face didn't grimace when I thought of you. I wished I could love you. But I can't face you and say "I love you."

Why did you have to be my reflection?