You are looking in the mirror and you are Seventeen. You have a job, you’ve driven a car, and opened a bank account, and all that shit. Adult stuff. Because you are seventeen—an almost-adult. 

You are looking in a mirror and you are Seventeen, and your reflection is smaller than you. Your reflection still has baby fat on their cheeks and an A-cup chest. Your reflection is skinny and ignorant of their luck. 

Your reflection is Fifteen and better than you. Fifteen was family who still gave you presents on your birthday. Fifteen was doing well in school and graduating junior high and invitations to parties and wrapping yourself in sparkly dresses. Fifteen was wearing your first pair of high heels and looking damn good in them. Fifteen was kissing a boy. Fifteen was kissing a girl. Fifteen was liking both. Fifteen was realizing this in a church and crying at home. Fifteen was bargaining with the man in the sky, because if it was realized in a church that meant god was telling you that, right? That meant it wasn’t a sin, right? That meant you would be accepted, right? Right? Fifteen was praying to St. Valentine of love (and hoping that it meant all kinds). 

Fifteen was having a crush on your straight best friend, and knowing that she would never love you back. Fifteen was going on a date with your other best friend, and knowing that you would never love him in the way that he loved you. Fifteen was figuring this out during a round of mini golf, when he fished your purple ball out of the water trap. You had picked purple, because he had picked orange – opposites attract, don’t you know? 

I guess you didn’t. I guess they don’t.

Fifteen was a she, and then a he, and then a they. Fifteen was very, very confused – you got that from them, Seventeen. For the record, Fifteen is sorry. 

Your reflection is Fifteen and full of energy. Your reflection is Fifteen and happy. Your reflection is Fifteen and armored with youth.

You are looking in the mirror and you are Seventeen. You are taller than Fifteen; you are smarter; you are a little bit sadder. You are looking in the mirror and you see a strong she, a conflicted he, a broken they. You are Seventeen. You are an almost-adult. You are tired, and you don’t know how to walk the eighty years left to death.

Fifteen says that you will be okay. Seventeen tries to believe them.