If only the broken silhouette in the mirror would morph back into that little body in a princess dress—shining an irreplaceable smile accompanied by red lipstick that has spread onto my teeth. A cheap plastic tiara, more valuable to me than diamonds, would lay atop my head. High heels ten sizes too big for my feet would loudly thud against creaky floorboards. Lighter than air, I revert to oblivion regarding the hurt which lay ahead. The blanket of bitterness that never seems to leave my damned tongue vanishes, and the hole inside my chest fades away. Suddenly, I have never forgotten what it feels like to be whole.