Filed under WOD

3 responses to “Reflection

  1. bedlam1313

    I am too scared to leave the house
    I wish no conversation
    Instead I wish to dine with Faust
    No need for reservations

    Stalin came and we ignored
    In our man-made island
    Even though his knock implored
    We dimmed the lights in silence

    Now Faust he wore a dapper dress
    From the Hugo Boss collection
    He may have heard me sigh impressed
    He sucked in his reflection

    By accident, his hand touched mine
    My heart went eek and flutter
    My hopes were swimming with the wine
    Down the Danube gutter

    I pulled back, return to sender
    I felt like such a failure
    As I came to remember
    I dislike male genitalia

  2. stewartparker

    Sometimes, late at night, I will look at myself in the mirror, and ask a series of questions: “what have you done?” “what are you doing?” “why did you do that?” “what is your problem?” It is very surreal, looking yourself in the eye, and making these inquiries, from the outside looking in, as if to or from a whole different person. I often reach the same conclusions: “I am disappointed, but you are beautiful, so I forgive you.” What a philosophy, but in fairness, I hold everyone else to that same standard, so why not myself?

    Reflection and reflection.

  3. memory ghost

    She stared lazily into the passing water, almost-glassy, then rippled with each stroke. Two fingers trailed in its coolness, the only sounds breeze and splash and breeze. Occasionally a heron would startle, casting its wise blue shadow across the horizon as it slowly sought a stiller silence. She could picture his back, pulling on the oars, as perfectly as though she were looking, though she was not. She was too lost in the passing greens and blues, lulled gently into a wide-eyed, gazing half-sleep by its constant changing sameness.

    This was peace. This was togetherness. She did not want to ruin it by talking.

    The boat came around a bend, he raised the oars, and they slipped into a cove, their cove, untouched by stress or time. She raised on one elbow, and looked deeper into the water below. She sought the bottom, but saw only her reflection, broken in places where her hair kissed the surface. Then his reflection, beside hers, his cheek on her neck, his arm, at once firm and gentle, around her waist.

    They seemed so peaceful, so happy, as she looked, that she felt more alone, less sure, in their presence. Perhaps she somehow knew that this time, so like the others that it was already blending seamlessly into her collective memory of the thousand times before, would be their last.

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