Hysterical letters to my sanity

narcissism

He nearly looked offended, that I could ever utter such a phrase, nearly looked mad for simply a second. Not anger mad but madness, delicate but brutal madness. His gaze shifted then away from me, or perhaps through me, my words so meaningless I became that as well. transparent in myself. He looked as if I'd just told him there was a large unpaid bill in his name, as if I'd just spat in his coffee and tried to serve it to him, as if I'd sent an unmarked basket of peaches to his home, no card or ribbon addressing my thanks, just peaches in the summer, and you have to feel prickly about these precarious peaches, when honestly you'd really enjoy a strangers peach basket. Anyhow he looked nearly miserable if I'd ever seen a miserable man.
He clicked back to reality, back to me and in an instant it was like I was created in a ripple of time, appeared instantaneously before his eyes, but no,
It was just the mere idea of me, an extension of his expression, a me that could mimic what he wanted to hear in just the right tone.
He wanted to hear his own voice in mine, see his own reflection in my eyes, never did he expect my flurry of rage, fists flying and crumbling thoughts, a brain that tried to beat itself raw, but nonetheless.
He handed me his watch and dashed out the door, goodbyes would take too long if you stopped to kiss every mirror.