The mirror looks back at her, confused. It’s used to throwing reflections right back. It doesn’t understand why it’s bare even though she is standing right in front. The mirror is confused; it enjoys the power to cast visions: on a good day it would have drawn on her beautiful curves and firm breasts, on a spiteful one it would have brought out a bulge and acne. In stead it stands bare and empty, like her soul.
May 16, 2008