Barefoot in the park

Barefoot in the park

You started by looking in the mirror, starving to find that blink in your eyes. Your mind knew that the chamber where your mirror was placed was a darkroom full of photos taken that summer when you had buried your hope along with all the wishes of yours.

Then you looked at your skin and noticed that it was full of scars. Scars that you had already forgotten, but they did not want to disappear. Rising your hand in the air was just an excuse to see if your body was as thin as when you were a ballerina.

The next step was to take that insignificant piece of glass out of the wall.

The fact that you gracefully succeeded to put it on the floor with no fear made you feel proud.

Proud. That adjective which describes a selfish feeling that you have never felt. Because you thought it was not the satisfaction that made you feel amazing, but the audacity to believe in you as a human being capable to accomplish something great.

Because you were so little in that colossal system. Then you broke the mirror and used its pieces to cut your skin. Your blood was gently covering the antique carpet which you received years ago from your dear grandmother. Her memory caused you so much pain, ‘cause, as a child, you saw in her the only individual who motivated you.

Somehow, your desire to escape the narrow space where shyness had you stuck for so many years happened simultaneously with their ambition to discipline you.

And then, what?

It seemed as you believed them explaining why you could not go your direction. It would have been too risky. You couldn’t afford to fall by being a naive optimistic. Now you have been overthinking for so many months. Every morning you see your reflection brushing your teeth trough the window, ‘cause you do not have a mirror anymore. I bet you want to break the window too, but you are aware of the fact that outside it’s raining.

This time the immorality of yours decides to let you act yourself. You sit on the sofa and suddenly the memory of you being proud of yourself comes to your mind…

Or it’s just an illusion.

From now on, your incapacity of accepting yourself decides to leave.

And then you woke up on a wood bench in the middle of the park. Your shoes have been stolen.

Now you are barefoot in the park.


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