Mirror, Mirror

At least I get to see you every time I look at myself.

Another birthday creeps its way in, and as the hours tick by until it is just another day again, the steady pulse of my phone alerts me that someone who isn’t you has just wished me well. A blur of laughing and eating and keeping my wallet inside my purse has taken the shape of an attempt to force the night to go hazy at the edges so I can forget that my own flesh and blood has forgotten his own flesh and blood. Although I have learned to love my curls and olive tone, I can’t help but find myself wishing I didn’t resemble you as much as I do, because every time I look in the mirror, the same features as my biggest disappointment stare daggers back at me.

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