image

Her image gets distorted every time she blinks.

More and more,

Until she doesn't recognise the face looking back at her.

She pulls back the hair that falls onto wide shoulders,

Seemingly with a bounce.

She grabs onto cheeks that are just demanding to be

pinched.

Hoping to get some sort of glimpse

of the person she thought she was.

Instead, she sees someone else.

Every time.

She doesn't know their name,

Their story.

Whether they feel like they're missing a part of themselves,

Or whether they're fine.

She doesn't like this, but she doesn't know what to do.

She hates everything about this person,

But only in that way you hate the morning because it means getting up,

But it promises a new day.

She hates this person because it isn't her,

But she hopes they find what they're looking for.

Everything she knew is gone,

So she hopes they find their happiness.