A repost

Emily Swiftfoot. Also known as The Destroyer. Also known as my conscience. For most of my life, My conscience has had a voice. A girl, scolding and chiding me to do better. Over time the voice developed and became a perfect version of myself. Red hair, flexible, athletic. Perfect comeback every time. She lived in a dark space, filled with a rich brown glow. There was a single, uncomfortable looking chair. There she sat and gave counsel. She has always been older than me, for reasons I may never know. Perhaps it is simply easier to follow instructions given by an older personnel. She lived in that dark corner of my mind, always within reach.
In elementary i usually ate alone. I had friends, but they were distant. i read my books, ate my lunch, and felt an almost overwhelming sense of loneliness. So I 'talked to Emily'. Back then her name was Alicia, or A for short. I scribbled spiky letter a's on page after page. Alicia has always been the best friend i have ever had. She doesn't exist in a physical form like you and I, but she exists true enough. She has always been there for me, through thick and thin. Through sorrow and through joy.
I have good friends. But none as good as her. So you try this. Create a perfect version of you, good looks, the works. Then give them a personality that you would love to see in one of your friends. Now you have a source of inspiration, of hope, and of solace. Keep then in your mind, and your heart, forever.