I walk with a limp in the empty rooms…
the rooms that never seemed so massive before…
The cold kota
Or may be it’s the chill of my own feet….
the chill that I used to cover with thick layers of wool…
But somehow it doesn’t hurt that much…not anymore…
I can see the tall, pretty mirror from the other end of the house…
There are walls between… but strategically placed… precisely exposing the mirror…
I can even see the tiny carvings of rose buds on all four corners…
But then I looked where I was supposed to…
Right in the eye… and saw distorted fragments of my replica…
Seemed even more crafted and made up than the carvings….
It didn’t smile… but didn’t seem there were ever any tears either…
An unaffected mannequin….
With no traces of what was lying inside… as if absent….
Finally I track back the trail of numbness… right there… someplace inside the imitation…
And although I noticed freckles of pain… left behind clinging to the real…
Those too were proficiently buried… right under the shiny layers of mercury….
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