Freedom & Shame

On the shiny surface, the bathroom is a perfect escape for a thirty-seven-year-old mother such as myself. It's a safe haven in which you are guaranteed at least a decent certain percentage of allowable quiet alone time. But -

But.

There are not one, but two mirrors. They're hung side by side, like two lopsided eyeballs staring me back in the bathroom. They make me think of the close bright headlight of a train about to wreck. Or of the white-hot part of a flame - the intense point of impact that creates the impenetrable glow.

The mirrors never reflect what I expect them to. Let's just leave it at that.

But the bath is like a big warm hug. I simultaneously sink and float.

Paradoxes abound.

At least while the mind is racing, the body can relax.

Hollow Wonderful Glorious

The girl sat hunched into herself. One might have observed that she was curled up like a shrimp. Or a potato bug. She was trying her best to protect herself. She was failing terribly. The girl felt overcome and hollow.

She thought of the body and of material possessions and how none of it makes sense. There is never any peace. She felt beyond hollow, as though she was composed of only eggshells and that the slightest movement may shatter her entire existence into dust.

- - - - - - - -

Her favourite record was playing. A smile briefly superimposed itself on the girl's face. The voice wafting through the air calmed her. She felt a little less hollow because she sensed her idol had also felt hollow many times just like her.

Infinite negatives fused at that exact moment and all that were left were positives.

She felt a little less hollow. A little less alone.

Where

I'm having difficulty finding things lately. I can't see what's in front of me.