Mirror.

She lies back on her bed. Comfortable ‘weekend’ clothes – over-sized hoody, pyjamas and slippers. ‘Favourites’ play-list, Midnight Youth’s ‘Golden Love’ playing. Head on pillow, suddenly that all too familiar hot head-achy feeling. She doesn’t know why it happens, it’s as though a timer in her brain has flicked the ‘Tears Flow’ switch to ‘ON’. They stream down either side of her face, gravity causing them to trickle back into her hair and behind her ears. It almost tickles but she can’t laugh. She tries to laugh to stop the tears but it just makes the current stronger. She thinks about everything: her favourite person, her favourite people, her home, her future, other couples. She misses her home yet she’d hate to leave this place.

This thought jolts her upright, back to reality. She turns the music louder to deafen her thoughts. It just makes her thoughts louder, they compete with the music. Head in her hands, she sits on a chair for a moment. Her eyes feel as though they haven’t cried in months. She tries to think when it was she last cried and concludes it was too long ago. Life has taken over her right to think. This is the consequence.

She stands up and walks over to the mirror. A translucent film of dust covers the glass. A teary-eyed face looks blankly back at her. It doesn’t stare, it looks. It observes the now re-liquefied mascara that traces its way jaggedly down either cheek. It sees her nose, an ugly red entity at the centre of her pale, tear-blotched complexion. It takes in the tousled hair framing her face, attempting to lessen the harshness of the alien features. But she sees none of this. All she sees is her eyes. Her eyes that love someone so much that imagining life without them breaks her heart. Her eyes that miss people, want people. They aspire to things, her future. And that’s what makes the face stop looking and begin staring. Her future. There’s only one thing that she knows she wants in her future. She wishes she could make that thing certain, wishes she could eliminate any possibility of losing that thing. But she knows she can’t. Life always invents surprises, especially when they’re most unwelcome. So, as her eyes stare at those in the glass, she makes a decision. She will follow this thing wherever it goes. She will promise never to leave it. Dehumanising him as a ‘thing’ makes it seems more rational, less ‘silly’ as her mother would say. But ultimately, that thing is him. He is her future.

(I have already blogged the song, but it’s too beautiful to not re-blog) :

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