There's always somethin' in the mirror that I think looks wrong

You always woke up earlier than you needed to, just to have time to get the eyeliner right, to cover every blemish, to look perfect. Lunch was always a salad, desserts politely refused. Every six months like clockwork, another appointment at the hairdresser, another color to chase some version of yourself you thought might finally be enough.

But it never was.

Hours spent watching tutorials, following every step, only to end up hating the face that stared back at you in the mirror.

That Saturday morning was no different. 6 a.m., standing in front of your long mirror, barefaced, natural hair, a small breakout dotting your skin. You couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop tearing yourself apart.

So lost in your reflection, you didn’t notice Johnny had gotten up, too. Rugby training always made him an early riser. You only felt him when strong arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you back into his chest.

"A damn beautiful girlfriend, is what you are" he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.