Sometimes I think. I sit here on the roof with my pencil and a notebook. I sit here in my sweatpants, listening to sirens, letting the breeze play with my hair. And I think.

Just, think.

Sometimes when I come up here to write, the words never come. I just feel. Talk to God. Listen. Breathe. My brain just can’t stay focused on the page, and it stays white. Pure.

That’s how I feel. Here, on the roof, with the wind making the trees laugh. I feel pure. Refreshed. Like nothing is impossible. Like I am loved, valuable, fun. I feel beautiful, talking to God, looking at a flawlessly blue sky.

I feel pure.

And yet I know that there’s a mirror waiting just below me, a mirror that shows too clearly the scars and the zits and the friz. A mirror that shows me.

Just Abbie.

And I whisper to my reflection…

There’s more. There’s another side to Abbie. A secret side. A beautiful side.

A pure side.

One day you’ll meet her.

One day you’ll know.