the world that is invisible. the part where i walk past the scene of the crime, the way things could have ended up, a possible scenario and i smile and realize that i am no longer her. where do i go next? swirling and swirling fears and anxieties and excitements and scenarios...round and round in my head...i can see all the strands but to remove, to identify, to acknowledge any one of them weights them, gives them an order that is never, ever quite right.
but i ask the pained and painted lady this: what exactly was the curse? the world that is invisible or the mirror world you stayed in for so long? because i, too, am sick of shadows.