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Penelope’s Looking-Glass

junio 10, 2012

How much can a woman hate her own flesh?

The pain is back. My spirit twinges at my decaying flesh. How long was it since the last contusion?

For ever I waited; I waited for him. For all my love of him I remained spotless, untainted. It was all my love of him that kept me from stooping into darkness. Pretty I remained; pure I remained.

I saved the plumpness of my breasts for his eyes only. The youth and vestal womanhood in me relented blossoming in the plucking of any other man but his. I fought oblivion.

He went; he didn’t leave. He did not leave in me. He was strong and male and courageous. He went to fight his fights. His absences I endured; tamed in the solace of my lonely company. Solitude I fought. My eyes welled up many a dusk.

Whenever words wouldn’t come, when certainty was less than scarce, I’d hum a tune in the colours of the memories of him. I’ve stood in front of you so long, so many times, Mirror. You’ve seen me hold my peace. You’ve felt the cold in here. You’ve known all well along my joy was waiting to awake.

No longer do I brush my hair.

He came to me in secrets. I disregarded stories my mind told me. I’d always rise at dawn, I’d breathe to feel his breath. My pleasure was to be his, and to wait for his return.

He battled on. He thrust his self at war. He is a man. He is flesh and bones, and blood in ardent torrent; he’s all but fantasy. As such, he fought and craved to quench his manly thirst. I was his woman, I know. He wasn’t faithful. Enraptured in the glory of his deeds, he stayed away a while.

I no longer looked at my reflection in you. I only looked into the glassy continent of my dreams outside of me. I saw my eyes, yet I didn’t see them. I heard my sighing, but didn’t hear my voice. I listened to the chatter of the bath water when near you; never again did I observe my flesh, it was the candid shell around my dignity in its wait.

He arrived, Mirror.      My hair was good in place. My heart was throbbing to infinity then, Mirror. He came and saw me his. I dare not say. He came and saw me wilted. I saw him mine. He came and saw me feeble. I heard his voice alone.

I stood in front of him, Mirror, as I used to stand in front of you. Fragile; pure. He saw me old, he saw me gone. He sensed me vanished. I saw him mine.

He beat my face. He hated me then. I fell aghast. For him I had been waiting –wilting, I ignored. For him I was his woman.

My eyes shattered. He wounded my old thighs. His despise was so brutally honest I dared not speak.

I was to be his, Mirror. I was only to be embraced by him.

I stand now tortured by the cruellest abandonment. He didn’t leave. He never came.

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6 comentarios leave one →
  1. junio 10, 2012 10:06 pm

    This is beautiful writing. No doubt you have a gift! Is this by any chance based upon a real life experience or inspired by one?

    • junio 10, 2012 10:19 pm

      This is one of the few pieces that have no life experience poured into, I think, either directly or indirectly. And it is also one of those I have always liked (quite a few years old now).
      Thanks for your kind words! I put my best effort when writing, and I may say especially when I intend to phrase my ideas in English, which is for me but a [much beloved] foreign language.

      • junio 11, 2012 2:34 am

        Well it’s fantastic nonetheless! It reads very effortlessly and seems to come naturally to you! I was actually tearing up a little toward the end. Glad I got the chance to read it :).

  2. junio 10, 2012 11:18 pm

    Definitely gotta keep up the fight, nice piece btw…

  3. junio 11, 2012 6:49 pm

    I just wanted to let you know that I am nominating you for the One Lovely Blog Award :).

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