No matter how many times everyone reassures me, I see my future as an uncomfortable haze. Right now I am underwhelmed, but the only thing keeping me calm with slow steps is knowing that the fall will be chaos: four jobs, class, thesis, possibly a life.
But to what end?
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I'd be all right with being all right with forgetting.
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I inspected recently under bright bathroom lights, sitting on the counter and leaning my face close to the glass. They are longer now, covering the barren patches, becoming lovely.
And I know you or you or you might see me again after I've stopped, if I ever really stop. And you'll congratulate yourself. Say it was you who had stopped me. Maybe tell others about your achievement if the story's not too weird to tell.
So I'll let you know here that it was none of you. It will never be any of you.
It was a simple lack of mirrors.
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