I always wanted to be him—
The perfect man,
Handsome, kind, tall,
Sculpted by the Greek gods themselves.
His hair cascaded like a clear river,
Framing a visage of unattainable perfection.

I was so...
Envious of him.
Not hatred, no—
But he made me feel
So
Insignificant.

If only I were him,
Life would be better, wouldn't it?
But I was wrong.

It’s better to fade into the crowd
Than to be hunted down
For the allure of one’s body.
He wasn’t as flawless as I thought—
Assaulted, used,
A prisoner of his so-called gifts.

He once said,
"At least the sun won’t burn you
If you don’t need long sleeves."
I stood there,
Stunned.
I had forgotten his skin condition.
“Damn it,” I muttered.

Too tall,
Burdened by his own size.
His back ached under the weight
Of his frame.
Clothes that fit? A rarity.

A genius and an...