Glass

The cracked glass stared back at me. I didn't think about who'd broken it, I didn't care. It was a bad mirror anyway.

But I couldn't stop staring.

She stared back at me, that girl with the shattered face. She seemed to be trying to show some sort of emotion but it leaked out between the glass shards. I could almost feel those feelings enter me.

I needed to leave this place, needed space and time to recollect my thoughts before returning to address her concerns. She always said she wished she was different, wished she wasn't so ugly, wished she was anywhere but here. I wanted to leave too, but I couldn't deal with my own emotions without leaving myself open to hers constantly reaching toward me.

I put her back in her bag, leaving her to fend for herself awhile. I felt glass tinkle inside the green pouch, a few lonely splinters slicing delicately through the fabric. They ached to touch my hand. Temptation called me to brush my fingers across them, allowing a prick of blood and a moment of feeling.

Leaving her bag on the bed, I walk. There's no place to hide from her screams but my strides lead me to further noise. The loud helps to drown out the sound of the girl, drowning in a bag slowly filling with the emotion spilled from her own broken glass.

I can cover my head with my arms until the sun is peaking through the window. The crowds of the night finish drinking their liquor as the trickle of early risers come for coffee. I'm not sure that I can hide in this crowd, intrusive minds edging on discovering my intrusive thoughts.

Standing to leave the line of glasses on the table behind me, I stare into the glass window. A shadow of the girl greets me, I wish she'd just leave and stop bothering me. She wants to be done, why can't she just get rid of herself and make it easier for the rest of us? I'm sick of seeing her face staring back at me with contempt when everything I do is for her.

I can't leave through the glass doors. What if she's waiting on the other side?

Waking up on the bathroom floor. The coffee drinkers have gone and the building is going quiet before the crowds return for another night. The only sound is her screaming, echoing off the empty walls. It's getting softer, maybe she's letting go.

I hope she can find a way to leave, I thought breaking the glass would help. Maybe she can use the bladed fragments to end this misery. The deep emotional pit might get her first.

Rising, I pull myself together. I have to go back and face her, tell her to leave, and throw away the mirror. Running a hand through my hair I walk to the sink.

Looking up from the dirty ground I see her. She sees me too. The girl I had left in broken pieces on my bed is staring at me, trying to keep a grip on some of her emotions and show them to me so that I can understand them. They're slipping through her fingers and spilling onto the bathroom counter, oozing into the cracks I feel under my skin. We're both dissolving into nothingness but I can't stop staring at the mirror.

The shattered girl stares back at me.

Looking back at the dirty ground, I'm ashamed. She seems to feel the emotions pouring back from me. The girl I had left in broken pieces on my bed is staring at me, trying to let go of some of her emotions and help me understand my own. They're slipping from my soul, where I've hidden them, slipping through the holes left by her penetration. We're sacrificing ourselves to see the other in completion, but I can't look back in the mirror.

Sitting, I let myself go. I can't go back and face her or tell her to leave. I can't fix the mirror. Sliding a hand down my face I feel the tears drip to the floor beside me.

I hope she can find a way to stay. Can my tears heal the glass? Maybe we can use the glittering fragments to build a new face. The deep emotional pit might get me first.

Waking up on the bathroom floor. The liquor-drinking crowd is filling the silence she's left. The only trace she left behind is her breathing, echoing off the busy walls. It's getting softer, I can't let her go.

I have to leave through the glass doors. What if she's given up waiting on the other side?

Standing to walk past the line of glasses on the table before me, I am startled by the glass window. A shadow of the girl pleads with me, I try to call out and find my voice gone, I'm all alone. She wants to be done, a broken face feels the weight her presence places on me, but her absence feels heavier. I can't imagine not seeing her face staring back at me, I would do anything for her!

I can't cover my head anymore and the moonlight glints off my skin, a shiny reflective pang piercing through the night. The crowds of the night continue drinking their liquor as the coffee drinkers sleep unrested. I'm not sure that I can run in these streets, not wanting to seem frantic in an area fraught with frantics.

Picking up her bag from the bed, I sit. The last place she could hide from me, but the quiet screams louder than the sounds outside. The silence fills me with dread and drowns the room with the emotion spilling from the bag as I slowly open it.

I pull her from her bag, looking at her earnestly awhile. I feel glass dropping to the floor, accompanied by our tears. Tears and glass ache to be returned to their origination. Temptation calls me to give up and throw it all away, but I'm willing to face the pain for a future of feeling.

I wish I hadn't left this place, but I needed space and time to understand myself and be open to her concerns. I always said I wished I was different, wished I wasn't so ugly, wished I was anywhere but here. She wanted to leave too, but I couldn't deal with her emotions without leaving myself open to mine that I constantly suppressed.

She stares back at me, that girl with the shattered face. She seems to be trying to give me back the emotion that leaked from me between her shards of glass. I want to give hers back as well.

But I can't stop staring.

The cracked glass stares back at me. I didn't think about how I'd fix it. It wasn't about the mirror anyway.