Truth be told, I’m a witch. It’s not something I advertise; I’m not proud of it.
Nevertheless, I am.
Mirrors don’t recognise me. It’s quite simple but, nevertheless, disconcerting to most people.
Take Jaun, for example—he was besotted. Totally rudderless over me.
We connected. I could talk to him. He made sense. For a while it was beautiful.
Glorious really!
But the glass held no reflection of our love.
He ran. Ran like a disillusioned child.
He ran. Of course he did.
The glass holds a spectacular prism. A point of light, undefinable.
Yet, it’s still there. It tells the tale of the lie.
I am not!
He was, he is…but he didn’t tell; let on. Who knows, maybe it’s my magic; this loyalty I muster without will.
Dark days; the infinity of time holds me; molds me.
I long to be. What would that feel like to see me in the mirror of glass and time.
It would be surreal.
I would be able
I could connect
I could talk to Jaun.
Jaun…
