She stares back at me with her brown squinty eyes, 

her lopsided brows raised in apprehension.

She raises her palm and her delicate finger taps the surface.

"I know," she says.

My eyes glaze over.

Who is this?

I tap the surface; it is water.

I try to grasp hold of her hand, determined to question her knowledge.

She knows.

She knows who I am, what I am, how I am. 

I am afraid to face her...

to come face to face with the truth.

"Ignorance is bliss," they say.

This girl

this image.

I reach to tap the water as she does.

It is cold, unfriendly.

Goosebumps form up my arm.

She is gone.

She knows who I am, what I am, how I am.

She is a reflection.

She is the person I am struggling to face.

She is me.


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