She thought she learnt to let go, but lately she feels like she has just sliced herself in half.

Shadows and cobwebs, which clung like the saliva of a monster, slathering and smothering, were dispelled with an airy hand, because a rush of tears suddenly made everyhing better - like salt could cleanse; like wet could mend.

But sometimes she feels like they are too far from her grasp, and her mouth runs away from her with a gasping freedom that she absolutely wouldn’t have granted but months ago. A twinge of apprehension is all that remains of her past self, and that clutching anxiety resents her so much, it sometimes claws at the warped wax of her face and screams


and the girl in the mirror is just as stricken (and that silver surface is melting too) and they lunge for each other because they are scared and alone - and most of all, seperate - and they cry:

When will I be the person I am supposed to be?

The End

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