Facade with squiggle on the C

I walk towards the mirror every morning, and look at the empty reflection staring back. The reflection that has stolen my core and in return asks: Why should I put all my trust into a figment of my imagination, the outer shell of my spiritual being? Inside my true self lurks, waiting to be found waiting for the creature I pretend to be, to disintegrate from the web of lies strangling it. Waiting to be found, waiting to be freed. I stand before you a new soul. Not the soul that was hidden by make-up, hair-dye, clothes and a smile, but the soul that remains, my true self, lost only in the harsh realities that my shell was trying to protect me from. It was there for a reason and now I am exposed and vulnerable to the world that is waiting to attack. Why did I break free? What did I have to lose by staying hidden? What was stopping the façade from covering my self that was not ready to emerge? I now am a butterfly without wings, a heart with no rhythm, a destiny with no purpose.