Her kind of beauty I could live with. The wide open canvas of her eyes, the words she already holds to herself, the liberal adornments of pink: I am a girl, I am to be seen, I will not tell you everything. Earrings in a drawer somewhere, or hanging on a tree. The polishing of soul.
An hour ago, at the dance studio, I became too aware of mirrors, of me in mirrors, of life passing. I became too aware, and I stopped—unable, really, to keep on dancing, to make a pretense of it. I wanted more than I was just then. I wanted more time.
Home alone now, I remember this child. How she turned so freely, did not blink.
6 Comments on Reflected Out, last added: 6/27/2009
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I love this post terribly.
Beautiful.
I am rereading this post trying to think of a better comment, but for now, it's my favorite thing you've written that I've read.
Oh Beth....enchanting, enchanted.
We have to will it of ouselves, you know, us shy sorts. Did you know I was shy? Sometimes people are surprised by this, but I am to a fault. That's why writing is so easy for me, the page is a mighty barrier,and mirrors, not such friends.
Which is precisely why I keep the ol' 'stache handy.
I highly recommend it.
;-D Anna