he's just a lookalike

when i look in the mirror, i don’t see myself. i see someone wearing my skin, moving when i move, mimicking every expression, but it’s not me. not really. it’s a stranger, a lookalike, someone who’s learned to copy me so well that even i almost believe it. almost. he has my face, my tired eyes, my hesitant smile. but there’s something off, something wrong in the reflection. i search for familiarity, for some sign that this person is me, but all i find is a hollow version, someone i don’t fully recognize. he feels distant, as though he exists just beyond the glass, in a world where i don’t belong. he’s the version of me that others see, the one i’ve worked so hard to create. he’s practiced, polished, and put together. he looks like he knows who he is.

but i know the truth. behind the surface, he’s just a façade, a carefully constructed version of myself designed to keep the real me hidden. the messy me. the uncertain me. the me who feels like too much and not enough all at once. i wonder when i became this stranger. was it gradual, each piece of my true self chipped away by expectations, by the need to be someone i’m not? or did it happen all at once, in some moment i can’t quite remember but can’t stop feeling the weight of?

the reflection stares back at me, unblinking, as if he’s daring me to confront him. i want to reach through the glass, to pull him apart and find myself underneath, but i don’t know where to start. he looks so real, so convincing, that i start to wonder if the real me even exists anymore. i press my hands against the mirror, searching for some kind of connection, some crack in the illusion. but the surface stays smooth, cold, unyielding. the stranger stays intact, and i stay trapped on the other side, wondering how to reclaim what i’ve lost. a laugh escapes my throat; i’m thinking about everyone i’ve ever met, how they’ve been fooled into thinking they’ve met the real me.

it’s exhausting, living like this—pretending the stranger in the mirror is me. but it’s also easier than facing what lies beneath. because what if the truth is worse than the illusion? what if the reflection is all i am now, all i’ll ever be? i look at him one last time before turning away. he’s still there, still watching, still pretending to be me. and maybe that’s all he’ll ever be—a lookalike, a shadow, a version of myself i never meant to create but can’t seem to escape.

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author’s note:
i can’t stop listening to lookalike by conan gray. you have no idea the chokehold that song has me in. i’m on my knees and i’m begging. oops just quoted another song. this song was in my spotify wrapped, i think? i’m honestly not sure and i’m too lazy to check but anyways… listen to it if you haven’t :)