I’ve realized I can be addicted to that mirror effect. The thrill of seeing myself through someone’s eyes, of being understood in a way I can’t seem to manage alone. But that version fades so fast. You start to notice how your laughter changes tone, how your energy becomes a little performative — like you’re auditioning for a role you wrote yourself. And suddenly you’re not sure if they ever liked you, or the character you’ve been rehearsing. 🎭

What scares me is how natural the pretending feels. I can shift, adapt, sparkle on command — and no one notices the effort behind it. It’s flattering to be the “interesting” one, the “mysterious” one, the one who gets it. But deep down, it’s exhausting. Because when you’re constantly playing a part, who claps for you when the curtain falls?

Sometimes I catch my reflection and barely recognize the girl staring back. She’s confident, clever, magnetic — but also a little hollow, as if waiting for someone else to remind her she exists. And that’s when the question hits me: if no one’s watching, who am I then? ❓

Maybe we all have a secret fear that love won’t find us unless we keep performing. But I’m starting to think the real challenge isn’t being loved — it’s being seen when you finally stop pretending. 🌙