January 04, 2006

Mirror, mirror on the wall...

Have you ever stood in front of a mirror and tried to watch yourself cry? Keeping eye contact becomes a problem and vision is blocked out by lids too heavy with sorrow to stay open.

Standing there in a cap not yours with accessories so full of memory that you rip them off, throw them to the floor and collapse with the weight of everything unspoken and unwritten.

Or you want to, but you can't move. You're frozen to the spot by your own anguish and surreal tears that you have promised yourself you aren't going to shed again because you finally understand, dammit! There is supposed to be closure in this knowledge you've gained, yet all it does is serve your conscious to hurt you more. Someone needs to hurt you in this, to make it better, to give you something to shake a fist at and rave.

You have all the answers you need yet still it is not enough to make the hurting stop. To make the idea of everything you thought was there, knew was there, felt there, did there, justified.

Where is reality's rewind button and who would be man enough to press it? Is there reason to? The ethics of such a button remain questionable as do motives.


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