Perhaps you are a
taxi driver and in your hurry to find one final fare you ignore your instinct
to slow down and instead accelerate. In your rush you accidentally hit a
shadowy figure who, looking in the wrong direction, steps in your way. The man
is carrying a mirror and at the moment you hit him you see reflected back to
you a clear image of your mother’s face on the day she saw your father alive
for the very last time.
Maybe long ago,
somewhere in her past, the sleeping mother hadn't noticed the few strands that
had strayed from her careful part, nor had she felt the blue, kaleidoscope of Xerces
that had escaped her slumber to gently pull the lock to one side before
returning to the dream, as easily as one enters a mirror, as simple as the moon
accepting light from the sun.
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