It’s raining outside, but there’s a sprinkler on the lawn.

It’s not much rain, just little drips you don’t notice until they hit your face.

But still.

If she saw it, mom would say “It’s not a good use of water, is it?”

Or she might go play in it.

I don’t know.

The people who live in our heads are not the same as the people we model them on.

The me that lives in my head is not the same as the woman I live, and the me I see in the mirror is a different woman altogether.

Sometimes mirror me is more like two different women altogether, especially on a bad day.

A fat day.

Although I’m always that. Fat.

Always. That fat.

Always that fat.

I weighed myself at the gym this morning, and I seem to be losing weight backward:

The more I exercise, the bigger I get.

The less I eat, the more I weigh.

My wife would tell me I’m beautiful and strong, if I told her.

(I can confirm this: it’s happened before)

Some of my friends would tell me “You’re not fat,”

Or they’d just look awkward.

(See, this is speculation. I’m not sure, so I made it up.

Thus is the narrative I use to shape my life created)

But it doesn’t matter what they say.

It doesn’t matter what I feel.

It doesn’t matter

Who I think

I am.

I am that

Woman I see.

That woman I see.

That woman I see in the mirror.

I still write sometimes, and I have a buttload of already-written stuff. So there you go.

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