On the other side of the mirror. . .

Staring through the glass, I see another girl. Her hopeful chestnut eyes bare into my soul, with a sweet sense of familiarness. Hair that tumbles down to her shoulders, curly and tinged with natural red, willingly allows a comb to pull it into place. I ask myself the question, what is her life? Is it to gaze back in the image of others? Does she share the memoirs of people, as they look into her eyes? Why is it though she copies expressions, they are always sprinkled with sadness? Is there a way to bring her out of her glass prison and allow her to live freely in this world? Can she walk among us all? What is life like on the other side of the mirror?

The End

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