45. Mirror, Mirror

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August 14, 2018

"What if you mirror started talking to you? What might the mirror say?"

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What would my mirror say if it could speak? It would depend on its mood.

The mirror is moody like me, it rarely shows me what I want or maybe I am unable to see what is reflects. Then there are times when I scream at it and it just stares back, without a whimper. Yet there are times, when it tells and I hear it out, good or bad, I hear it out.

Neither too tall nor too short, not thin but not fat either (okay, that is a not perfectly true, but we will go with it), hair that is wavy (neither curly nor straight) and a skin tone that is between white and brown. Depending on the mood I am in, I am your average next door girl or a woman perfectly balanced. But since perfection is an illusion, we shall have to do with being just average.

My mirror has a sense of humour, mostly visible when I apply the eyeliner on my eyelids, try as I might, the wings are never the same; what is so complicated about that eyeliner? One single thin line, a barely there effect and my mirror acts up, either it winks or shakes its hand; and my wings turn to bedraggled feathers.

My mirror does not hesitate to show the blackness beneath my eyes, the bleariness when I have cried too much nor the faint dimples when I am happy and grinning with joy. The first to reproach me and the last to love me, yet at times, it flashes a genuine smile and blows me a kiss; those days are happy ones, for I leave home with a spring in my step, all set to conquer the world. 

My mirror is I, me and myself wrapped in silver and plastered against glass, one that makes  a we out of me and is a reflection of who I want to see.

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Word count 319

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