Untitled reflections

When I was twelve, I remember looking into your eyes as you yelled. I tried not to cry so you couldn’t take satisfaction from it. And something changed. As I looked into the glass of your green-tinted windows, I saw your anger melt into insecurity and fear of your responsibility, fear of your failure, and incredibly, fear of me. All your hatred was only an echo of the darker emotions which hide in the depths of my soul, feeding from the rankness of stale injustices such as the ones you keep inflicting in your effort to remove that part of me. Your actions a pernicious snake eating its own tail. Something in your eyes shifted and I was left looking at the reflection of myself in the green-grey mirror. And I knew that I could no longer cry over these hurts because I understood. I stood still, my gaze fixed on your face, not out of defiance; I understood.


About E

Even as a child, I read voraciously. Writing has always been a natural outlet. Sometimes bordering on macabre or edgy, I was not always safe and even today I look at some of my writing and raise an eyebrow. Read me at your own risk. I am but a 30-something professional (don't ask a professional what, for I won't answer!) who spends nights as a dreamer and sometimes writer.
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