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  • Seventeen. It has been seventeen years since I began my life on this earth. Seventeen long, tedious years, one stretching further after the other. Seventeen times I have gotten a year older, only to find that this new year of my life was not any more significant than the last. Seventeen. Through all of this arduous living, breathing, growing up, I have never shared myself with another person. My friends all think that they know me, and my parents think everything is alright, but I know that it is not. I look at myself in the mirror every day and think that there is no way I am who I am. That I am the person who has emerged from every experience I have ever had. All of the traveling, movie watching, laughing, crying. This person, in the mirror, is not an accurate portrayal of all of those things. She is plain, I am decorated. She is dull, I am sharp. She hates, but I love. She does not embody who I have seen myself become over these seventeen years.
    I am looking for love. I am not looking to find this in another person. I am looking to find love within myself. I am looking to become the girl who I am meant to be. I am finding myself to be more and more like this stranger I see in the mirror every day, and I am striving to release myself from her grips.
    She has me wound in tight, but I am assured that I can break free. The person who I am meant to be, the one who has experienced those experiences, laughed those laughs, and cried those tears, I am sure that she will emerge from the depths of this stranger in the mirror.
    And when she does, I will know that I have found love.
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