Her.

“Who are you waiting for?” she asks.

I take a good look at her face. Her dark brown hair is tied up in a bun, but not in the way you usually see those young girls of her age do it. Her tied bun looked more like maa’s hair tied into a bun. There are a few strands frizzy and dried, flying off as if they are naked wires, searching for plugs. I laugh remembering how mother always complained that she looked like a grandmother from behind when she tied her bun like that. She must be looking like one even now. My eyes fall on her forehead. It is covered with tiny indistinct spots, almost invisible if you aren’t concentrating hard enough. There are dark bags hanging  below her eyes because she had lost sleep for a couple of weeks. Although a sleep lover, she’d been refusing to sleep for some unknown reasons to both of us. Her nose is sunburned and a little tanned than the rest of her skin. There are light speckles and scars in her face. Sometimes, I feel like if I looked hard enough I could find more furrows. But right now, she looks tired and worried. Even as she looks straight back at me, I somehow feel that she is looking beyond me, searching for answers, seeking escape, looking for a way out. She is tired and worried.

“You,” I finally say with a sigh. “It’s time for you to come home.”
Because I’ve realized that even the girl in the mirror needs a reminder of the love you have for her. Especially during time like this.

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The girl in the mirror

The girl in the mirror and I
are rivals.
Although we pass each other by
several times,
we don’t even exchange smiles.

She is strong, fierce and powerful.
She wins every battle she goes into.
I am not that strong or fierce
I like fighting the losing battle.
She lives in an old brick house
with tikijhya windows
that open up to a big chuka:
mine’s made up of cement
with windows full of steel bars
opening upto a big concrete jungle.

She is beautiful and flawless
with pretty eyes and warm smile
she will melt your heart in few seconds.
She is guarded,
her deeper thoughts unknown to many
she doesn’t share them till it’s necessary
she has a wall around her,
that you can’t see,
you feel that you know her,
I always do,
but I also know that
this is not true.

I have a scar on the side of my cheeks
from stumbling and falling across the streets
I break things that I don’t know how to make
I share things, I can’t keep a secret.
She laughs at me
for she has this upper hand in this war
she knows me more than myself
the fire that is ignited inside us
she knows how to turn it off.

She is kind, caring and loving.
Sweet, full of patience and enduring
Careful, and selfless,
unlike mine, her heart doesn’t wonder and ponder
go back and forth time and again
her heart is not a fickle.
Mine changes direction
faster than the blink of an eye,
I debate and argue with myself
every single time
while she has no enemy,
I am the worst of me.

She is the girl in the mirror,
and we don’t go side by side.
She is anti-me from the anti-universe
she is everything I ever wanted to be
but never could be.