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Every morning I wake up. I get dressed, make my bed and then look in my mirror.

I look at my reflection, scrutinising this product of reflection and the laws of physics. I look at the person who looks so much like me, and ask her, "Who the hell are you?"

Every morning, I wake up. I drag myself to the almighty wakefulness-giving coffee machine. I raid the fridge for something that could almost be called breakfast. I take a shower. I listen to the radio.

The girl in the mirror does the same things. She opens her curtains when I do. She wears the same unironed clothes as me. She uses a chipped coffee mug with grinning cows dancing across it, like I do. She eats with me. She dreams with me. She breathes with me.

But she is not me.

Every morning I wake up. I look at the photo of me and Callie on my desk. I look at the girl in the mirror. The girl in the mirror looks back at me.

"Who the hell are you?"

One is my potential. One is my past. And it's up to me to choose which image of myself I want to be.

This morning I woke up. I looked through the photo album full of my old school photos. I looked at the pieces of my past lying on the pages.I looked at my changed self.

I didn't need to ask the girl in the mirror any more.

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