A Collection of Short Writings

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

This is all very much just me getting my thoughts out of my head

More will be added

Submitted: September 08, 2018

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Submitted: September 08, 2018



The Mirror


I used to know the person in the mirror. I knew, of course, the curve of her lips, the slight downward angel of the corners when she was in though. The way her eyes would cloud over when she'd get lose in her thoughts the way she always seemed to do. Her eyebrows would pinch together and before she came back to reality, you could tell she wished she didn't have to. Her gaze couldn't ever quite focus on what was right in front of her. I never liked her nose, I always thought it was too big. Her cheekbones, on the bad days, the dark days, seemed hollow because that morning she forgot to eat; she didn't drink enough water. Her eyes would have dark circles underneath letting me know she spent another night tossing and turning, her dreams being the only escape, but never quite being exactly what she needed. 


I still see that, I still see her. I just can't tell what she's feeling anymore. Now more than ever, she has that faraway look. I don't think she can come back and as I said--I know she doesn't want to. Somewhere far, far away she's in a better place--a better world where she never had to make any bad choices, where everything easily just melded together in perfect harmony. She knows, she doe, that she has to come back sometime, but why? There isn't anyone who needs her, no one would go looking for her if she were to go away; she would just be even more a ghost than she already was. 


I used to know what she wanted and needed, I could always tell her what needed to be done and it would be. I could always tell her what to choose and that'd be it. That'd be definite. It'd be final. She would be okay. 


I wish I could reach through, grab a hold and let her know that she is not alone. That she does not need to bleed to feel alive, that she doesn't need to drown to finally feel like she's breathing. Her pain isn't what fuels her. It's not who she is, she's so much more than that. She's the mornings she wakes up and tells herself it'll be a good day. She's the times when it isn't a good time, but still she pushes forward and gets through it. She's the sun peaking through the clouds on a rainy day' she is the light that people hope for--wish for. 


I know how far she can go, if she would only let herself, but I cannot help her, I'm only her reflection in this mirror. I can stare, give the same blank look back. When she's gone, she's on her own. I will be right here, waiting for her to return to me. I can only hope that she will. Again and again. 


But sometimes I fear she may get lost; that she might not come back. 


Please...let her come back.

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