Creative Writing, Flash Fiction, The Fine Line

Sarah Malingo

I’ve had those days, where I look at myself and a reflection of someone I do not recognise looks back at me. Then comes a slight resemblance. Some one I know very intimately reveals herself in glimpses.

Slowly, I become more and more comfortable with this new being before me. She’s here to stay a while so why not. We leave the sighting where we first met, each going in opposite directions. But she remains with me, closer.

I am finding that the music which used to penetrate my soul with electricity now merely numbs it. Where I used to be at peace with the meolodies and the harmonies and the spirits of it, I am now at a distance, hearing it only and feeling nothing.

The colours that used to seep into my heart and dance joyously with my spirit, they just – are. I recognised them, but nothing becomes of them, they exist just like everything else that does not matter. There’s white, yes, but it is very telling. It stains so easily. Then there’s black. It’s chic, it’s classy and it’s slimming, isn’t it.

The joys of life are what she lives for, what I live for. I have recently grown accustomed to not looking for them. That way when they come to me and I notice them, I can feel.

I have found the joy in simplicity, in moments, in pain. This will remain until she leaves. When I no longer feel her cold touch. When a new reflection surfaces along with the glimpses of myself.

Do you understand?


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