Conversation With A Mirror

Her hair is black. I stare into the mirror and straighten the folds of my gown. 

Her hair is white. I pick at my sleeve. "It doesn't suit you."

"I'm expected to wear blue for the ceremony." They must see me as a strong future commander. 

"I wish…" My husky voice cracks. Those words never work.

"You can't come."

"Don't you need me?" I twist a strand of my hair and curl deeper into the glass. "No, of course not."

"I have to establish myself." Not as a girl who talks to mirrors. "Then you can come."

My dark hair falls over my face. I'm only good if I bring something to the table.

Maybe I'm tired of serving others' convenience.

I lay one hand against the glass. "Don't worry. I won't forget you."

But she already has.

I peel my hand from the cool glass and leave.

I slip silently from the glass.