Curious Observer

December 4, 2011
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My hand touches the mirror. It’s so cold, steam is already building up around my hand. My eyes close, I can feel it rushing through my body, a thousand herds of invisible gazelles. Its sad, its cold and its wonderful. It feels like being on top of a mountain on a windy day you fall backwards but are caught by the breeze. I smile.

My eyelids lift and I can see her, long dark hair, pouty lips, and dark eyes. As I look ay her I can twist and turn in ways i never could in that useless clumsy body. Her body the one that used to be mine. I watch her She laughs off subtle insults. I watch as she tries to chat with boys, they laugh in her face. Shes just a comedy act a clown. Everyone who walks by her is another thread, every glance, every word, I watch as she’s jerked backward and forward every thread pulling her in different ways. Silently she cries out wishing this to end. It cant she’s a puppet with multiple masters not knowing who to follow never for once thinking that the could be a path just for her. Im so happy im free I can see what she missed so preoccupied with the storm inside her head she forgot to see what’s in front of her whether its the people that need her most or that she dosnt need to conform. Her friends smile at her its the invitation I need. It was fun to be an observer but I need to go back to reality its time to cut the threads.

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