The mirror is an enemy disguised in every day life. It materialises the image of ugliness, of hatred and abhorrence.
Sometimes I look at it pitifully, desiring to stroke the curvature of that hideous mass and try to hold back waves of repulsion. Sometimes I want to dig my nails into those flesh and wrench it away. Sometimes I wish I could hug it or strangle it slowly because it's just so pathetically horrid.
Dear girl, why can't you be stronger? Why are you manoevered by everything that threatens to knock you down? Does it matter? Doesn't it hurt?
The music sounds and bittersome notes tear across the air, embracing that lonesome figure into a crumbled bundle. Air seeps out from her torn lips as a single tear dropped. The breathing quickens and slows. Her fingers gripped nothingness, tension shaping them into claws. She looks up, eyes pleading to see some meaning. But she's lost and I have lost her.
I would have loved to hold her. But I couldn't; she was just too ugly and I was foul. Because I would never come to love me. Because you will never love me. Because I wish I was never me.