Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall, am I Even Here?

Dear Zanib,

I know you don’t want to hear from me at this hour, but it’s three in the morning and you need to sleep. I also know you will never listen to my voice, so I will do something I rarely do, as your reflection: I will write you a letter, in a last-ditch effort to break the ice encapsulating your feeble mind and leave it on the floor of your room for you to see when you finally decide something IS wrong with you. I have no preconceived notion of this working, but I will try to tell you the truth nonetheless. Maybe, then you will stop lying to yourself. I know you don’t like people in your head, but I am not your therapist; I am far more knowledgeable of the decrepit state of your mind.

I live there.

I wish you would only smile when it was in earnest; I’ll have none of those false flashes of teeth when you are alone with me. No one else can see, dear girl, so nothing bad will come of you turning the corners of your mouth down or pursing your lips. You have nobody to answer to in the bathroom. I wish you wouldn’t tell me to spot faking being angry; I have no reason to fake anything, darling; no one is going to make me laugh or cry or scream or curse. I walk out of my door just as you walk out of yours. No one else is ever with me, or you’d see them, just as I see you. You’re always here. So am I. I’m just invisible beyond the mirror. I am an open book for YOU to see; no one else will crawl into the deep, dark, yawning pit of my mind.

But… I’d rather be one page in front of six people than a book in front of one.

It hurts me when you fake joy – I understand you want to be happy – but, to do that, you need to EXTINGUISH the fire in your heart when you smile, or else it’s just a waste of time. Fire kills all… nothing is stopping it from engulfing YOU in FLAMES.

Of course, you can’t kill demons with fire…