There should've been

a mirror

Dear reader,
I think I may not be well. I think this sadness will swallow me whole. It will start eating me from the sides, leaving behind nothing but a lifeless frame. I try to resist it with my performative acts.

But it's like screaming into the ocean, eventually killing myself.

I have tried many a time to meet my eyes with love, but I see nothing except a pile of lies I've hidden in there. It's hard to hide it sometimes, so I've stopped being around people whom I love. It's easier that way.
Dear reader,
I think no matter what I do, say, or believe, I am never going to be sufficient for my soul. It's been a year or two since I've come to terms with it. You know why?

Because I keep looking into a wall that's supposed to be a mirror.
Because there is no mirror to look into.

There should’ve been a mirror.

Instead, there is just this frame — a lifeless frame, dark, sad but beautiful, lonely but strong. It has patterns and details, but misery resides in it. It's a piece of art. Peace of art. The wood has started to rot from the sides, and I think the owner will soon throw it away.
But dear reader,
It must matter. It must matter because it’ll leave its presence, evidence of its being. A stain on the wall. It must matter because there is no other choice. Because then it’ll be dead before death.

Yours forever as i try,

anfaal <3