Reflection

She was a picture of false bluster, a rippling of plastic flesh, with pearls that pulsed alongside porcelain teeth and crippled cheeks. She carried a doll's cleavage, like a gun. She tried to smile a wall into existence, but the news was a wedge forced between the cracks of her face, looking for the tide that was crushed beneath it.

You can never let things go completely. Never completely. Nothing is ever reversible. What we do, remains forever, ingrained and unforgiving and forevermore they will resurface, again and again, to stand in the corner of the room with closed eyes and silent lips.

For several moments, she carried the false intensity of eyes that stop where the mind begins. She swore she could feel a heart inside her, buried deep, somewhat unreachable, inside her, ticking away.