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1993: I'm curious about you. You're new. You're different from the others.

1994: I wait for you to notice me. And for the smile that will stretch across your face when you do.

1995: Now I'm up close and personal with your mouth. My view invaded by your tongue. Banging on me as if you've found a new friend.

2000: You look so happy. You little plastic princess.

2006: Bring on the close-ups. I can't contain my laughter. As I watch the deformed faces you make as you try on 67 shades of eye shadow.

2007: Why the fuck are you making that face? If I could talk, I'd tell you that you will be hiding those pictures in four years.

2009: I've been dealing with your flashes for three years now. So many new faces have joined you. And never came back.

2010: You look fine. What is that? The fifth outfit I've seen in the past 20 minutes? Get it together. Your flavor of the week will be here soon.

2011: Why are you wearing an orange robe with that stupid excuse for a hat on your head? Sorry, but you look like a pumpkin. After all the outfit struggles we have had over the years. You're really going to go out like that?

2012: Where have you been? I haven't seen you in a while. It's good to see you. You're different. But the same.

2013: Stop. Why can't you see what I see? You. For you. All I see is you. So what the hell are you looking at?

Story by:

Kalin Winans

5 December 2013