A reflecting surface of glass, that's all it appeared to be. Elevated on the wall as an idolatrous portrait, pulling faces into its glacial world like a pond emulating the sky. Ruler over its square domain, the master of all hope and desire. Capturing my image a thousand times, green eyes, blonde hair, the curve of my lips. I found it amid piles of clothes, lamps, and vintage jewelry at a flea market years ago. Beautifully framed, it exuded simplicity and grace amid the surrounding chaos. Yet it was discounted as the glass was slightly warped. But I never saw the flaw, to my eyes, no crack crossed its polished face, no imperfection marred those immutable depths.
The world reflected, molecule by molecule, so neatly in that square, small box. The shade of red lipstick, the hue of blue I wore today, caught in that thin layer of looking-glass. A wave of hair, a smudge of mascara, to mark my days. My nights projected through the lens of arched eyebrows and rosy cheeks. All that depth, skin deep, seen day after day. Time was trapped in that polished pool of appearance, rough edges smoothed over, doubts swept away. My image shrunk down to a manageable size, so easily viewed through the glossy surface.
Rays of sunshine and claims of falsehood deflected off its straight edges, after all, a mirror only reflected. Such a bar of elegance and beauty, its siren song of grace and worth slowly permeated all space. An invariable realm of seduction, I started to see my face in that infinite pool of faces, flawless in their depthless world. And let myself forget, and ignore, what I had learned the first day. It was warped, offering enlightenment for the blind, a shallow reflection of the heavens above. 7 years of bad luck be damned, I'll take my chances among the chaotic, shattered pieces.
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