I is her voice. An actor reading lines with fake love, likes, fears and memories. Never believe her. She is a liar. A faked byproduct of her environment and a person wrapped up in pleasing the people she sees too much of. Hate her.

Myself is her body and motive. A girl who is seen by few. She tells the truth and knows she is not enough. She is imperfect, loveless, and content with her needs. She wishes for something to happen. She wants to fly in the rain and never look back. Love her.

Me is her mind, her heart, and soul. She talks and argues with no one as she tries to define herself. She doesn’t hate anyone, but wishes them away. She tells stories of girls smarter, faster, and with more right to misery than her. She is jealous of that right, but confuses it with happiness of completion. She thinks she’s broken; unable to know and master herself. She wants to be strong, but thinks she is weak. In then end she is a thought and what remains from a forgotten memory. You do know her.

Me, Myself, and I. They are the three girls that make “her” who I am.