So, I thought I might try writing snippets of words I think of here. My words mostly, maybe some quotes or fragments floating in the space of memory saved for the loop that plays and replays all that you love and hate most.
I've noticed something about the mirror in my grandparents' bathroom on the first floor. It makes me feral.
It's the same mirror that has hung there since I was a child. Since my mother was a child- Probably even since my grandfather was a child. There's nothing extraordinary about the bathroom itself- There's a toilet. And a sink. Occasionally some toilet paper. And the mirror.
There is a school of thought that reflections are deeper than just the surface. Deeper than how we appear to the rest of the world. That they reflect deeper into the recesses of our minds and our souls. The mirror harbors truths for those who peer farther into its depths.
The mirror holds the soul in front of the eyes.
The mirror in my grandparents' bathroom on the first floor shows me a feral, wild soul.
My hair, already fairly dark, appears darker in the mirror. Inkier, deeper- oil, rather than chocolate. My hair has never appeared tame in this mirror, whether through my own neglect or otherwise, I don't know. My irises appear more golden and at the same time murkier. The lines of the irises stand out more, stark against the lightness of the amber. My eyelashes long, draw into these strange eyes. Freckles that are seen only in the mirror scatter across my nose and cheeks and my mouth appears rosier, as if recently stained by some red fruit. There is a golden light above the mirror- no different than any other- that bathes me in a warm light which even as I've grown taller, seems to always fall upon the same planes of my face. During the day the sunlight through the window accomplishes this in the absence of the need for light.
I do not know this person I am shown. And yet she is familiar.
I have never seen her face. But, I recognized her immediately.
She is a stranger. She is me.
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