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The Threads in My Eyes

A Tale in the Time of My Own

By Sana AlibuxPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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A long gasp. A long applause.

Certain actions we ponder about but never really take notice of the sound or the image it would produce if we had threads in our eyes.

I anticipated that day I would stand naked in my doorway waiting for her.

I was afraid that she wouldn’t see me the same way, or perhaps I wouldn’t see her the same way and that both of us would remain broken. As broken as the third globe mirror hanging on my medicine cabinet that crashed between us as she stumbled backwards. As broken as the dent she made in the wall before covering it up with her friend’s putty. Or as broken as the sound of the cops showing up at our doorstep after a typical night of emotional abuse.

Why is it that we go back to what has broken us?

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