coyotekid

He stares at the stranger in the mirror, halfway between hatred and acceptance.

"I don't know you," he says.

"I'm you."

"No you aren't. You're not at all like me. I'm funny and kind and sweet, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack. You're
sluggish, hurtful, and selfish."

The mirror man flashes a smug grin. "I--you are--whatever the pain makes you."

He pounds his fist against the wall, feeling helpless. He's been hurt so many times he's lost count. He's been belittled, stomped on, thrown out like so much trash.
"Good things are coming. It just takes patience," they tell him. And he tries to believe them, only its hard to see the possibilities when the bad is so prevalent.
If he could collapse right now and call it the end, he would.

"Vicious cyle, isn't it?" the Mirror-Man asks. "The bad keeps coming. YOu become what I am. And then you make it worse for yourself. Push people away, give up on good opportunities. It never ends, you know?"


He grits his teeth. "You aren't me. And the pain doesn't have control. I do."

Mirror Man lights a cigarette. "You been keeping the same score I have? We've lost a lot already. That has seriously fucked us up. And because of that, we've become something
dark and bitter. Something that writhes in pain, lashes out in anger. Takes every opportunity to justify why it's ok to be a bastard. And when they've all left us alone in the dark--well. Then maybe we'll be content to stop, yes? When it's too late?"

"There is no US," he snaps. "There's me and there's you, and you're staying in the past where you belong."

"As if you could get rid of me so easily."

He rams his fist into the mirror; the glass spiderwebs beneath bleeding knuckles. "No, it's gonna hurt. And I'm not always going to get it right. But one thing I do know: It's time to stop grieving. Time to be
who I really am before everyone I love is gone."

A hundred tiny mirror-men fade amongst shards of glass. "I'm always going to be here, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. But so will I."