"You don't get it." She said with a sniffle. She used the sleeves of her sweater to wipe underneath her eyes and then shook her head. "Nobody is going to love me." He thought he heard her wrong because he was in fact in love with her.
"What about me?" He said. "I love you." In this moment she hated him, because even if he thought that he loved her, she knew she would only break his heart. She was the type of sadness that pills would not fix and she was the type of empty that no amount of alcohol would fill. It wasn't healthy, it wasn't poetic, it wasn't beautiful. It was crying in her room alone, and fake smiles, and having this beautiful boy in front of her and not being able to love him back.
"You may think that you love me." She said. "But I am a shattered mirror, bits and pieces of the world reflecting from my skin and you look at me and you pick out the beautiful parts, because that's who you think I am! I may be all those beautiful pieces but I'm also all those broken pieces. I know you want to believe that there is beauty in this sadness because those are the parts of me you fell in love with. But when you look at yourself in a shattered mirror, there are cracks that distort the image and there's nothing to love about a broken person."
