(this is your WISH)
I want it to stop. The strange, flat bleakness - the bitter, utter embodiment of lost, like I am not who and where I am meant to be. Anna Davis is meant for more – I am worth more.
But I know that everyone thinks that of themselves.
It has been a long day. I let myself into the darkness and couldn’t bring myself to stop anything that happened six years ago. Now, the place is different, the house is different – there are no ghosts or memories lurking against walls and in corners. Now, I wind through the blackness automatically.
. … .
I twist on the sink faucet without looking up. When I meet my own eyes in the mirror, I stare. I see myself – still a little girl, one who has given in and bent her neck in defeat and allowed her will to stagnate. I tell my reflection in a whisper I she had never stood a chance, and if it comes out bitter or cynical – well, I recognize the facts and that particular fact is so true and so painfully ripping that I can't imagine how I didn't see it as girl. I never stood a chance, and anger makes my eyes glint like they used to. It only takes a second for the spark to die.
I breathe evenly - in out: monotonous and always - and don’t turn off the still-running tap. The button-down shirt slides off of my shoulders, leaving me clad in a tank top and leggings. I am so tired. I look at my reflection, trying to see anything in myself that makes me worth something - that makes that self-righteous fuck of a lawyer wrong (because it has been a long time since I admitted defeat, but I admit to myself that the blank cast to my face and the grey haze clouding my mind makes me wish that I had been stronger. That I hadn't had to fail alone, that I hadn't been alone - that I had, maybe, had someone with me). I desperately search for the worth that I suddenly knows must be there. My hands clench around the porcelain of the sink until my fingers are so bloodless as to blend into it. I stare stare stare, transfixed, and my features seem to morph, just a little. The same person - but different.
It is looking into a mirror and seeing not my reflection, but my reflected opposite - the other Anna; the one who did all those things that real-Anna had wanted to do but never had the guts for. The other me stuck to things she got bored with, managed to make friends and crazy leaps of faith. Other-Anna's bright brown eyes are sharp - almost fierce - and there is a stubborn set to her mouth. The riotous mass of hair suits her. Her chin is tilted in defiance, and these are such small things, but they make the girl beautiful in that way I have never been.
And it fills me with some sort - some sort of regret that tastes a lot like whiskey. It burns and makes my eyes glaze, lets me disconnect, just a little. I stare and stare and stare for what may be hours, or only seconds, and makes wishes on the flecks of amber that form a small sunflower around the pupils of the stranger in the mirror. My vision is a little hazy, like an old photograph, and I look look look and thinks: i know you. i know you. you are everything i dreamed i would be when i was a child.
I let go of the sink with a small, choking gasp and slides down the cream wall behind me. I am worth something - but all that I am worth is everything that I never became.
I am not so self-deluding that I won't admit: i wish i was you. I wish it with all of my heart and soul, feels the vicious anguish curling steadily around my ruined dreams and unabated loneliness like the old friends they are until it spills down my cheeks. I weep with a blank face and open eyes, silently shuddering. The catches in my breath are inaudible under the sound of the tap running.
(Weak. Weak weak weak – I am so fucking weak.)
I stare straight ahead at the edge of the sink as water begins to overflow. I gaze at the liquid - into the liquid - and wishes on every fallen drop that I could be that girl in the mirror (the woman who is worth knowing and loving and maybe even befriending). I distantly feel the water soaking through my leggings and the tears staining my cheeks as my vision goes black.
I am worth something - but all I am worth is everything that I never became.