Beautiful

She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. I just wish I had told her before it was too late.

I remember the way she used to look. I remember her brilliant mind. I never appreciated her and just how much she had to offer. I took her for granted. Worse, I was harsh on her, always demanding more, telling her that her good wasn't good enough and that she could never measure up. I think I just wanted so much for her to succeed that I pushed her to believe she never could.

She was a smart girl, maybe not the smartest ever, but plenty smart, and not just smart, but clever. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to see through how people acted to how they really felt. She called people out many times on things only to have them react in shock to how spot on she was. Of course, they could have just been being nice, but they certainly seemed genuine. She had a gift for people, but it was also her curse. She cared about people deeply, but also about what they thought of her, or about what she thought they thought of her.

I think her opinion of others' opinions of herself was a lot more negative than it actually was. Even though people complimented her, she often thought they were lying. She assumed she was right because she was so keen on telling when they hid things about herself, but so inept at thinking they were hiding things about her. And if she ever called them on it and they denied, she just felt even worse since either her intuition had been wrong, which was bad, or they really did dislike her, which was worse.

And even if people had thought poorly of her, why should she care? She was smart and pretty and generous. She gave of herself and all she wanted was to be loved in return, but she never felt loved enough because she never felt successful enough. She never felt she deserved to be loved, and so she never thought she was loved. If only I had told her, reminded her that she was loved. But I never did. I did the most damage of all. I demanded the most and expected the least and hurt her more than any.

And now it's too late. Now her clothing is tattered and torn, her hair is dirty, and she can barely even stand to look at people, yet alone help them. She can't help them. Everything good in her life is gone. The people who showed even a little bit of faith in her are gone. They left her to the streets and the drugs, the only things that seem to help now. I know it's wrong; I know it's all so wrong, but I just can't help it, I can't get back what I once was.

I know I was beautiful once. I know it, I remember it. I tell myself every day that I was beautiful. Why didn't I tell myself I was beautiful when it was true? Why didn't I have more confidence? Why did I tear myself down, drag myself into the ground until I got where I am now and I just can't get up again? I was to be her. I want to be that girl I once was, but I can't. I am lost. I will never be beautiful again.