Where/when are you most yourself?
It's been so long since she's felt like herself.
Sometimes, she looks in the mirror and doesn't even recognize the woman looking back at her.
It's the same face, and the same eyes, but it's someone she doesn't even know in the mirror.
She can barely remember the last time she felt at home, felt complete, felt she could say, "This is me, and I love who I am." It feels like it's been years upon years, and maybe in some alternate reality, it has been. But her reality, it's only been two.
Two years.
Twenty-four months.
Seven-hundred-and-thirty days.
The last time, and the last place, where she felt like herself, was when she still a reporter, at the Daily Planet. She misses it so much, beyond words, beyond anything.
But it all seems like a lifetime ago. Like there's no turning back.
And maybe there isn't.
Maybe there never was.
[ooc: Emo crap was emo. But it's what she asked me to write. :\]
Sometimes, she looks in the mirror and doesn't even recognize the woman looking back at her.
It's the same face, and the same eyes, but it's someone she doesn't even know in the mirror.
She can barely remember the last time she felt at home, felt complete, felt she could say, "This is me, and I love who I am." It feels like it's been years upon years, and maybe in some alternate reality, it has been. But her reality, it's only been two.
Two years.
Twenty-four months.
Seven-hundred-and-thirty days.
The last time, and the last place, where she felt like herself, was when she still a reporter, at the Daily Planet. She misses it so much, beyond words, beyond anything.
But it all seems like a lifetime ago. Like there's no turning back.
And maybe there isn't.
Maybe there never was.
[ooc: Emo crap was emo. But it's what she asked me to write. :\]