The Burden of Beauty

I’m stuck in this wheelchair, my body broken, my spirit bruised. The accident took away my mobility, but it can’t take away my vanity. I still catch myself staring at my reflection, wondering how I ended up with such huge breasts. They’re a constant reminder of what I’ve lost, of what I’ll never have again. I feel like a freak, a sideshow attraction, a reminder of the fragility of life. My braided hair, once a symbol of my beauty, now seems like a cruel joke, a taunt of what I used to be.

I try to focus on the things that matter, like my relationship with you, but even that’s complicated. I feel like a burden, a weight holding you back from the life we had planned together. I’m always needing help, always relying on you to get me from one place to another. It’s like I’m a child, a fragile, dependent thing. And the worst part is, I don’t know how to be independent anymore. I’ve lost my sense of self, my sense of purpose. I’m just a shell of my former self, a hollow, broken thing.

But despite all this, I still manage to find joy in the little things. I love giving you gifts, little tokens of my affection, reminders of the love we share. I love the way you look at me, like I’m still the same girl I was before the accident. It’s a cruel illusion, but it’s one I cling to, one I need to hold on to. Because in the end, it’s not about the physical, it’s about the emotional. It’s about the love we share, the connection we have. And that, at least, remains unbroken.