She dances as if the world doesn’t watch her. She sings as if the world doesn’t hear her. And I desperately try to be the person that she is, only to realize that she is already taken, and that I must be me. But as I watch her twirl as the world burns down, I wish that I could be that confident. I wish that I could find something within me that wouldn’t care what others thought. I wish that I wouldn’t worry all the time about how I look, how I sound, and how I feel.
The floor she dances on is barren. Covered in dust, it only provides traction for her to move her talented feet to dance even better. In the small white dress, I look through the mirror, placing my hand against the cold glass. Peering into another dimension, through the mirror at a girl I seemingly used to know. Her long brown hair that flows to her waist, twirling around her body as she spins with grace.
Who is this girl? Where did she come from?
Whatever I try in order to speak to her, it doesn’t work. She cannot hear me, but I can hear her. Perhaps this is because I am nothing but a reflection; the reflection of a life she left behind long ago. But even as I tug at my flame-like red hair, I know that it must be more than that.
Even as I blink, she’s stopped dancing and stands up across from me, on the other side of the mirror. She watches me with a strange gaze…this girl that looks so much like a doll. What I wouldn’t give to shatter the glass between our dimensions so that I could speak to her; just once. To whisper to her two words: thank you.
But even as she turns and walks away, I feel a tear trickle down my cheek, my hand leaving the mirror and the ability to let go. Because in the end, the girl I see in the reflection…she’s me.
I never understood why you acted that way. You led me astray. Miles and miles away from where I lay, I want to again find my way. In these turbulent seas and the seasons to come and change, I find myself haunted by the reflection that calls my name. I don’t know what I need or what I could claim, but in these days it seems that I seek something the same.
I wanted to understand the meaning behind it; the reason. But it’s not as if there ever really was one, just the simple fact that someone doesn’t know how to control anger and I happened to be caught within the crossfire. I found myself battered and bruised, and now the reflection – my eyes – haunt me to the core. The sadness I see when I look in that glass, at the me that is standing right there. Sometimes I wonder if I am ever going to reach what I’ve worked so hard for.
And yet I believe that God has given everything and that He is putting everything together for my benefit, I still find myself crying with no intent. It’s not something I can simply vent, it’s something that will take years of acknowledgement and understanding; the ability to allow myself to cry and allow myself to grieve. Because these feelings will never truly leave.
For some reason I find beauty within the pain. I find tragedy to have an elegant quality. Perhaps it is my own coping for dealing with the tragedies of everyday life in this world; or perhaps I’m just crazy. but it seems to me that in these days I’m filled with more than just sorrow. I’ve allowed that door to be opened, and now the floodgates open. Sadness, sorrow, grief, guilt. Everything that I feel, and the flowers within my heart begin to wilt. But in their place stands something new, something serene. I take it to be another me. Perhaps this version is stronger than the last, I would hope so because she was broken fast.
In this new reality as I gain years and experience, I will allow myself to feel these things with diligence. I have learned that bottling up pain is a bad thing to do; something that should never be achieved. And now I understand these things that have hurt me.
Because I know these things to be true, and I know Him to be by my side, I will never again see myself with these things that hurt me huddled in a jar in my heart. Instead, I will look at the rising sun, and pray upon the golden hue.