Monday, 5 October 2015

Story #41 - Talking to...

I like my hair. Don't you? Of course you do. Everybody likes my hair. Look at how curly it is. And black. If I were to have spiders in here, I wouldn't know about it. Not like it would make much of a difference. Anyone who gets wrapped up in my strings can die, or lose a finger. It's that feisty. But you already know that.
Oh, I so miss hearing your voice, even if it was all brash, rude, raspy, even if you always said the dumbest things. I guess I feel nostalgic about the worst things. I shouldn't feel like that, considering how you treated me my whole life.
You always spat in my face. When I was happy, you told me I was showing off, you made me feel paranoid, made me afraid to be myself. Every smile I had was turned into a scowl. Every piece of laughter added to the music of sorrow.
When I finally moved away from, you had to follow me. You had to know every thing I did. Why? Why couldn't you let me go?
Well... I suppose I started to accept you after a while. That's why you're here.
I still wish I could get rid of you. And I'd want you back straight away.
Oh, why are you doing this to me, mirror?

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