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Synergy Writing Contest ~ Poetry Entry

The looking glass

Sometimes I hear her crying, especially at night. I can faintly hear the muffled sounds of her sobs echoing through the night. Part of me actually wants to go to her, console her, even help her if I could. And then part of me wants her to cry. Wants her to hurt, almost needs her to hurt, so I ignore it, and let her cry. I know she must feel alone, scared and empty inside. But part of me does not care. Part of me knows that she must deserve it somehow, some way. So I let her cry. But then one time I actually saw her cry. Right in front of my own eyes. I saw the plump tears of sadness and contemptment running down her face as if competing in some sort of a marathon. I looked deeply into her misconstrued eyes and felt a touch of pity and rage all at the same time. Her cheeks were red, and part of me hated her. Hated her for crying, hated her for letting me see her cry, for letting me see her weakness spilling forth like a raged river out of control. I hated what I saw, to see her crying. So I turned away from the mirror, and vowed never to see her cry again.

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