I feel I will only feel beautiful when I die; That my cold corpse will hold the warmest of smiles, enough to make the world shine bright. My face escapes me, as if it is not I whom I see in the mirrors, in the surfaces of water, and those that reflect us. My heart is not pretty, nor pure. It is an amalgamation of pain and nothingness, and the will to stop its steady beat. I believe my absence will make this world beautiful, and in turn, I too will become beautiful. It's all I want.