"I don't have one. I have many."
Majorie's obsessed or - a more nice way to put it - infatuated with recording every single one of her imperfections, all of them telling why you shouldn't be involved with her. When she sends them all to Chandler, he makes it his mission to convince her stop. Which is the irony of it all. Because it was him that made her start in the first place.
I'm always happy — always annoyingly chipper.
Yeah, why wouldn't I be? Everything's good — no, great — in my life. My parents' marriage is crumbling like a flaky pastry, my grades are dropping faster than you can say "drunk", and the list of people who have given up on me is constantly growing. All this in a span of a few months — how quickly this is happening is astounding.
My life's impeccable. What can I say?
Happiness. I suppose that would be a negative trait. Probably. After all, who can stand someone who's always a jubilant bucket of sunshine? Honestly, sometimes I annoy myself, too.
"God, you. You and your-your happiness. It's annoying. Everything about you is."
You said that a month ago. Said it right in my face in that unwavering voice of yours. I didn't know I was like that until then. I didn't know that I was driving you away.
I was never the type of person to accept lies — unlike Winnie. Unneccesary, pesky little things; that's what they are. That's why I liked you. You didn't lie; at least not to me. You were so outspoken, always saying what was on your mind, not even bothering to think first. It's what got you noticed, in good ways and bad ones. But you know what they say; any publicity is good publicity.
But maybe that's also your reason, your reason for people not to love you. We all have our own. I have mine. You have yours. He has his. She has hers. It's what makes us human.
That would explain why I've always wanted to be something or someone else. When I was in kindergarten, I've always had this deviant fascination with butterflies. I thought they were beautiful — so dainty and frail. As if they'd disappear if you came too close. They're more perfect than I'll ever be.
To be honest, I think you should be with someone like that. Sienna Buchannan, ring a bell? Surely then you would stop whining about my imperfections and instead be mesmerized by a butterfly-esque someone else.
I bet you've realized by now that I'm being sarcastic when I say I'm happy. I would be if this was some parallel universe like the one in that movie we watched with your little brother — the one with the superheroes. For an animated movie, it made your thoughts divergent from before. That, possibly, out there in the universe, there's another you living a completely different life.
Maybe in that life, I'm happy — really, truly happy — instead of the façade I put up in this world. Maybe in that world we — you, me, and the rest of us humans — are perfect.