Polished by an unknown factor. Wipe the edges till you get to the very middle going in a circular motion. Continue to do so until the smudges are faded. Or until you can't see the smudge that's holding a memory that creeps constantly in your memories. Mirrors, they speak volumes though the indigos of silence, pouring out images that seem to be nothing but the truth. As the mirror shatters, piece by piece it becomes a reality. That cold lingering night crashes into existence. Not a dream nor a mirage, but a reality. A reality that has become your worst nightmare. Nothing left not even a drip of empathy coating the stems of your speculation. Due to what you were left with. Stripped from courage, abstained from sex, deteriorating expressions. It's not you but him. Him violating your forbidden fruit. Taking a bite from it savoring the taste of what is victory for him. You feel nothing but the adrenaline taking course through your veins. You feel as though you have lost. How could something so precious be contained in the hands of another? You hear nothing but the ones telling you it's your fault. Never mind seeing nothing but the eyes staring back at you through the shattered mirror. The eyes who know your reality.
YOU ARE READING
Forbidden Ode. Book One
ChickLitIts a game we once learned as a child to express the things you believe the most. No one never said that being a women in the eyes of others would create chaos of destruction.
