Proza

Written October 28th, 2010. It's kind of depressing. Actually, it's kind of depressing how depressing it really is. I have found I'm most inspired when I'm hurt.


I looked up and saw her. She looked back at me through her dark eyes, pained and confused. I looked deep, trying hard to figure out who she was. She kept staring, waiting for me to remember. Seconds turned to minutes, when finally, her eyes changed and the tears began to fall down her face, dripping onto her shirt. She was telling me "no", trying to escape from the wall between us. But I couldn't hear her, couldn't even remember her name, though I knew I should. I grabbed what I needed, and my world was hazed over with red. When I dared to look back, the girl was gone. And I was alone. Staring into the bathroom mirror.