Mirror Reflection

A Story by FaeryQueen

P.O.V

Holding hands, we look the same.

Walking, our footsteps match perfectly against each other.

And then you let go of me, and I feel like an individual, my shadow, a separate growth from yours.

But then you hold my hand again, and I feel the anaconda-tight grip, wrapping around my neck, squeezing the air out of me, my lungs, shrinking.

You hold my hand so tight, the child withing me is screaming, "MOMMY, DON'T LET GO, I DON'T WANNA LOSE YOU! PLEASE MOMMY"

You hold my hand, like a child holds her blanket, wrapped so tightly around her chest, never taking her eyes off it, and when you let go of my hand, I am that blanket.

That blanket, as it dances with the wind, getting higher and higher, the wind pulling it up, up, up, is me.

And you're running. Tears streaming down your cheeks, you're crying, for that blanket, for me.

But Mother, although I am that blanket that you accidentally let go of, know that I will always come back, into your arms, I will stay for an eternity, until you let go of me again, unwillingly.

Although you may not want to, and I do not care if you scold me, if you yell at the top of your lungs, I am growing.

I am growing and growing and growing, like a tree.

And trees, need water to grow, so sprinkle the supply just a little bit on top of me, I do not want to use you up too fast.

For if ever I have a child, my child needs the supply of his grandmother, before he gets any from me.

You gave birth to me, and therefore, left a supply already inside of me.

My supply came from you, and your supply, your mother, hers, hers etc...

When your supply is all used up and you have gone from this earth, I will still see you in my dreams, I will still see my childhood, of us walking, holding hands, and I will remember that figurative blanket and I will smile.

Because in truth, you never really let go of that blanket, you never let go of me.