The her that was in me

Maybe I loathed her so much because she reminded me so much of myself. Maybe with all the years that had past, the mere thought that I was anything like her nauseated me. I mean, could it be? She was so disliked, scatter-brained and lost. So how was I, any bit of a resemblance to her? 

Truth is looking at her, listening to her talk and watching her in action, feels as though she’s reenacting me. Why is it that when we look at our reflection in the mirror all we see is that of everyone else’s flaws staring back at us? Why is it the faults of another are so much easier to see and criticize than our own? Why is that?….

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