Self-portrait (I)

It's been a long time since I looked at the mirror. Fear? Carelessness? Busyness? I don't know. Tonight, I felt an aching urge to grab a medium-size mirror with an old-fashion handle and look at it. It was a full-moon night. I went out into my balcony, sat on the floor and looked into my mirror in the light of the amazed moon. And I saw me; my hair reminded me of a black horse's tail. Wide forehead. Thick, arrogant, slightly griming eyebrows. I skipped my eyes and went directly to my nose that shed a dark shade on one side of my face. Such a small mouth I have! I usually keep my lips firmly closed in order to imprison a rebelling sigh, or a naughty laughter. An ordinary, oval chin.

I put the mirror down. I felt an urge to smoke... to blow the smoke of my cigarette in the face of that beautiful moon. I wanted to curtain its light by my black smoke. Sinister, I thought.

I remembered I didn't look at my eyes. With indifferent hands, I took up the mirror  again. I was a bit surprised by the large eyes' look; the whiteness contradicted the blackness of the dark pupil where two compassionate moons were reflected. A wide sea of milk with a dark drop of death where there was a defying spot of light struggling to be born and erase the blackness.

There was something at the corners of my eyes... I couldn't tell what was it! Sadness? Bitterness? Wickedness?! I didn't bother giving it much thought to know what was it.

I put the mirror down and let a low, sarcastic laughter escape my curled mouth. Light is cruel sometimes when it makes you aware of the darkness within!

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