from inside the frame of a large Art Deco mirror, i am startled by my own reflection. i am jolted; ejected from the warm cocoon of my daydreams and retrospect. i am cruelly spat back out into this universe. cruelly spat out into an empty roomful of ghosts, sawdust and broken glitter balls. amid the carpet of dust, i see shards of my reflection scattered, with optimistic sunshine, haphazard and pretty.
who is she? who is this person standing beside me, clad in black on a sunny day. is she a ghost? a ghost of the past or an apparition from the future?
who is she? i don’t know…
like a strange and sweet juxtaposition, or kink in the delicate fabric of the space time continuum, she stands close by and yet she is far, far away. locked in the past, lost in the present, but lusting for the future.
she looks like me. is it me, is she just another ghost?
she turns to face me and smiles, sun flare flash in the blue skies of her eyes. her eyes – wide with feral excitement. she looks high, despite gravity. i like her, but who is she?
she laughs out loud and spins – perfectly centered, poised. it is evident she can dance.
she spins with strength of stance, then – to my surprise – with fluid feline grace she moonwalks, in clunky unfastened gravity boots, and disappears from the frame.
again i am returned to my little lost world of daydreams and yearning. alone amid the sawdust and broken glitter balls i am left with her laughter ringing in my ears…