4

I walk through the door.

This room is different. This room exists.

It is covered in paper. Thick paper. Blank paper.

There is someone else in the room. Someone who is not me.

It is me.

There is glass. Behind the glass is another room.

In the other room is me.

Not me.

I am me.

She is me.

I am Ptah. In this place I am Ptah.

She is me.

She is not me.

She has black hair. She has dark skin.

She is me.

She is not.

She is prettier. She draws on the walls. Her art is better.

She is not me.

She is the me I want.

I look at the drawings. She does not look at me.

They are perfect. The lines are clean. The shapes unflawed.

I could not make this.

I look down. Down at my hand. I look at hers.

 Two.

She has no scars. She has no restrictions.

She is me.

She is not.

I look at my walls. Blank walls. Paper.

There is a door. A door to the next floor.

I cannot leave. 

I take the pencil. It is sharp now. I bring it to the walls.

I must make. I am me. 

I cannot leave.

I look over my shoulder. She is still working. 

I must be like her.

I am not perfect. 

But I can make. Make something like her.

Something perfect.