Here. Here’s a picture I hope represents who I want you to think I am. It’s me at my best. Or at least it’s me pretending not to be my worst. In truth it’s shallow and false and it’s all for you. But not the real you, just the you that I think I see when you’re just trying to show the best representation of you. And why wouldn’t you, when all you see is the best of me twice filtered through tried and tested algorithms that make extra sure it’s the best of me always looking back at you? How can we possibly compare, not only to others, but our own false image?
Where it once felt as though representation was pure, an expression of self untethered to the weight of the body we are suck with, now it feels heavier than any object that would not crush the marrow from these bones.