Short Fiction: My World is Glass by Erica Ruhe

My world is glass. Sometimes it’s a window. Sometimes it’s a mirror. Sometimes it’s dark and smoky. Sometimes it is radiant white. Sometimes it is as clear as the sky. When reflections take me to dark spaces within, sometimes I need a clear view, a clean window to look out and free my thoughts for a while. Sometimes these flights of fancy become hollow and vapid and my soul yearns to look deep into the well of the tragic and trudge through its depths for meaning. Sometimes my diversions lead me to dive into darkness I did not know was there. My world is glass. Sometimes I need a window and sometimes I need a mirror. Fragile, capable of distortion and illusion and yet the most convincing proof I have of my own existence. It allows me to peer through, and in to, and out of, and not. When the looking glass breaks I pray it will be the one that hides the truth of myself. It may not be the window. It may not be the mirror. Perhaps it is the lens that is bound to my eye. Until then I will look for that which is true; that which is me. Sometimes I need a window and sometimes I need a mirror but each will reveal that which I desire to see.

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