They say breaking a mirror is bad luck. But is it? This must be the third mirror this month. My knuckles bleed every time, yet I can’t seem to get myself a bandaid. Because what is in that mirror is horrendous. It’s devastating.
“Come on, Mary, for the last time. There’s no blood there.”
I’ve been sleeping until 3:00am every morning. I’m not sure why. It’s calling me.
It’s all just so bloody.
...
I caught the grin on your face, but we didn’t talk.
Yet.
Now we’re sharing stories. But we haven’t joked.
Yet.
Now we’re giggling like kids. But no confessions.
Yet.
Now I’m giving you a letter in class. But no love.
Yet.
The words slipped. But we’re not graduated.
Yet.
Now come college. But we’re not living together.
Yet.
Now we’re cuddling. But you don’t want kids.
Yet.
It’s a girl...
They must’ve been worth more than they looked, but not in money. No, not at all. They looked worn out. Handed down from at least three children before him. The sole was tearing at the bottom, and the laces weren’t tied right—not even in the right holes. The bottom of them looked stained, and not just from dirt. Maybe water, maybe puke, maybe other things. They didn’t look new at all, I’ll tell you...