I.
Were it only a matter of the future, the dilemma of decisions would leave nothing but hollow shadows. Yet , the heavy weight of memory’s face reveals itself in every mundane act of the present. For this reason she kept a tiny hand mirror in her pocket, which she would use to check, constantly, the world behind her.
When he stood in front of her she tried her best to superimpose the idea of his silhouette in the mirror, but found both the reflection, and his long face, emptied.
She always walked backwards on her way home, admiring the jagged purple edge where the sky scrapers tore open the sky in the tiny reflection.
II.
If love comes in the night, let it come as ghost in the mirror - she prayed - let it come burdened by the heavy weight cast by the shadows of the past. And let those shadows descend upon it like the rapid sundial’s finger, or like the sudden collapsing of fortune’s towers upon unsuspecting spectators.
This I know: Shadows of the past often carry more credence in the dirt of their nails than the frail physical forms and the hopes of the present.
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