I’m not sure if time speeds up or slows down when we try to see our reflections in cracked mirrors.
I just know it feels familiar.
Like toxicity or death, you mourn and starve yourself and listen to the wind in the trees.
And then you begin again.
The beginning, the starting over is where you swallow water, where you struggle to  swim.
But what can you do when one of you moves on to glass, while the other stays at the mirror?
Wait for the sun to go down, the leaves to change.
And remember when my family was larger.


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