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Older now, somehow callused and bruised, she looks a little bit confused, standing there in her own reflection. You didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear, you didn’t hold me last time, my dear. Phone calls, I receive them now and again, reminding me of what I could have been. I hit a turning point at eleven, I changed…and at twenty-seven I remain, unhappy, scared, trusting no one…combing through the ruins, of all of this waiting on you business. Who is she, in the mirror? A reflection of me, too late I see. I should have rescued her at a turning point. [Kristen Delaney] |
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