The Monologue of an Old Mirror.
Here she is, that’s righr drag your fingers through your hair that’ill work ... NOT. When will you learn? Four hours is not enough sleep to fix this. Good lord, Don’t! Fancy sticking that back in your mouth. Water on your finger will not be adequate to clean your teeth, and as for that thing, you need a tongue scraper for a start.
No no no not today, please, a bawl once in a while is good for anyone but when you hide behind your hands and silently shudder ... that clouds me, makes me feel unhappy all day.
Today is her special day, I often like to remenice, lots of smiling faces popping in and out, dressed in flowers and rainbows, pouting lips pretty hair, then came the dabbing on rituals, bits of colour from little pots. > sigh < You my lady, were bouncy and twirly, your eyes would reflect the light and it would make my day. Where is she? She is somewhere in there, I know.
Ahh, that old trick try and steam me up with the shower, I will have you know it blurrs the look in, but not out. No wonder you cry, look how hard you scrub it must hurt. That heat cann’t be good for you. Already your skin is raw from the body brush ... are you trying to melt yourself? You must know by now, you can’t.
Come closer let me > sniffffs < ahh that is delicious, that’s it keep doing that. There she is, I knew she was somewhere, I spotted you for a second eyes flashing wearing that smile that reaches the lift of your shoulders.
My lady come back ... let me see the flowers and the rainbows ... please. She won’t, she never does. Maybe, maybe one morning she will. she will look into her self through me and see what others see.