He met you when you were young, before the world told you who to be. You were the girl with wild hair and a laugh that could fill a room, your beauty glowing from your own spark. But over time, you began seeing yourself through everyone else’s eyes. You wanted to be “better,” adding pieces to fit a mold, like a “Mrs. Potato Head” with interchangeable parts.

At first, it was small things—new makeup, different styles, little changes to match the trends. He noticed the change in you, the way you’d stand in front of the mirror, the light in your eyes dimming with each “improvement.”

Then it became more. You saved for treatments, procedures, anything to “perfect” yourself. Each time, he’d reassure you, saying you didn’t need any of it. But you’d only smile sadly, brushing his words aside.

The woman he loved, who once shined so brightly, was fading. He wasn’t losing you; you were losing yourself, piece by piece.

One night, he found you staring in the mirror, searching for flaws only you could see. He walked up behind you, gently wrapping his hands around your waist.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer, just traced your reflection. “Maybe to you,” you whispered, “but the world sees every imperfection. And it matters.”

He took a deep breath. “What if they’re wrong? What if the imperfections you’re trying to erase are what make you, you? The woman I love… she doesn’t care what anyone thinks. She’s vibrant, fierce, fearless.”

You finally turned to him, eyes tired. “Do you think… do you think I’m losing myself?” you asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“Yes,” he replied. “Piece by piece, you’re letting them define who you are. But you don’t need to. I love you—flaws, quirks, everything.”

You softened, vulnerability breaking through. “It’s just hard, you know? Feels like I’ll never be enough.”

He pulled you close, letting you rest against him. “But you are enough. You don’t have to change for them. Let them see the real you. You’re already perfect to the people who matter. Especially to me.”