I see you every day when I look in the mirror.
Even with your past being released
in the harvesting of tears and curls,
your essence twines itself like a serpent
within the eyes staring back at me,
around my very existence.
I wonder if you knew
there wouldn’t be enough space here for us both.
Maybe you always knew.
Maybe that’s why you seek me in the mirror,
reminding me that you are not easily forgotten.
Reminding me that I only exist because of you,
that your heart is my heart.
But your life is not my life.
There are still fragments of you everywhere —
on forms and IDs, in workplace demands and life’s expectations, on the tips of tongues.
You were trapped in a cage and I was your way out.
But now your name and the places you’ve stepped are the bars of my own cage.
Your memory haunts me.
I see your face every day,
and you always remind me that I can’t play this game without you.
At least, not yet.
I hope that there will come a time
when I may properly lay you to rest
and provide the peace you have always deserved.
Until then,
I hope that it becomes easier
to live in the skin of a dead woman.
xx
Nykhia
