She was staring back at me, seemingly transfixed, an illusion created by the barrier between us.
Perfect oval eyes, with just the right amount of grey mixed into their blue.
Flawless skin, so far from my own freckle-studded face.
A ballerina’s body, petite and perfect.
Whilst I stumbled into the room, she floated.
When she opened her mouth, people probably listened to what she had to say.
Unlike ugly, shadowed me.
But I tell myself I don’t care.
Because the greatest difference between the two of us is that she doesn’t have a soul.