Looking Through The Window

Were you to peer through my window tonight, you would find what you might think is me.

You would see a dark haired girl, tapping on a laptop, in a perfect white room, perfectly coordinated, with a perfect grey poodle curled up by her side. You might notice that though steam lingers in the bathroom from a shower, this girl has perfect hair, with perfect make up re-applied as she sits in her perfect world.

You might think what a pretty picture it makes, you might think how easy her life must be.

You might even wish you were she.

You might want to step inside through the glass and pause for a moment amongst the calm, as you admire the photos, perfume bottles and girly things she has arranged perfectly around the room... like she is waiting for an interiors magazine to come along and photograph it.

Note the pale pink chiffon scarf draping from the door handle of the white wardrobe. Note that it matches the multiple rose pattern cushions scattered on the white embossed quilt, the throw rug draped casually just so, to match the runner on the tallboy and the tassled throw along the wooden blanket box that matches the rest of her furniture.

You might think she is perfect herself.

If you were to look closer though you might notice the things you missed as you first admired the view.

You would see the half empty wine glass smudged with lipgloss next to her on the bedside box. You would see the open packet of sleeping pills hiding in the drawer. You would see the bottle of wine on the floor, that she wants to drink so she can forget that she isn’t the girl you first saw as you looked in.

You might see her mind struggle as she picks the bottle up, and places it gently down again, considering her every move as she breaks from her typing. Weighing up her options.

If you look even closer, you will see that tears have already slightly marred her make up, and you would see another ready to fall and make its track down her face. You would see balled up tissues peeking out from under the pillow, from the cry she thought no one would notice earlier.

And as you pick up on these things, you might start feeling someething for her. Pity, sadness, sympathy,anger. You could feel anything...or nothing at all.

You might then start to think that not everything is as you thought, and that maybe she isn’t perfect after all.

You would be right.