To the reflection within my mirror

So I followed your advice. “Find another heart!” you said. “It will be easy!” you said. And I did. But it wasn’t a match; it shattered - Glass everywhere. What a fucking mess. I won’t be doing that again.

Then I bought her a book.

She didn’t like that, said it wouldn’t fit properly. What an ungrateful little bitch, huh? I call bullshit: you could fit a book in there. You could fit any object in there.

She’ll come around one day. I think if I just keep buying her things, she’ll give in, and that hole would finally close. I’m so sick of people pointing it out, calling me a freak for it. It’s about time for her to get over it and just takes what she gets.

Also, turns out, shadows really hate fire. And when I say hate, I actually mean fucking terrified. Poured a shit ton of alcohol up there, lit a match and whoom! Everything’s up in flames, and the shadow is clawing at the door.

Yeah, everything else up there was burned to the ground too - you know, those lyrics you liked, that one happy memory of your dad when you were younger, the story you were working on that you were actually proud of. But hey, the shadow’s gone!

That’s all that matters, right?