The memories ripple as you wade in, the concrete beneath your toes cushioned by abstract thought. Your fingers trail the surface, silver swirls of emotion patterning in your wake. Pause for a breath, then plunge down, losing yourself in memories even as they nibble away the edges of your mind.
Jenora Vaswani would like to think of herself as a lightfoot halfling, nimbly toeing the line between fantasy and reality. In actuality, you’re more likely to find her at her desk poring over various literary theories, surrounded by biscuit sandwiches and red velvet cookies. If you’d like to see more of her work, feel free to pop over to her website
They say I know you,
But truly, I don’t.
We have a deep connection?
A long history together?
I can’t believe it. I won’t.
You are hideous. A monster!
There is nothing before me that I wish to embrace.
Be gone, deceitful reflection, and take your disgusting lies with you!
October seems to bring about that icy trickle of fear that maybe we are who we think we are, after all.
It was a ghastly picture of a girl who seemed my age, but pale-skinned her head shaved. “Whose picture is it, in my drawer, Ms. Bevins?” I asked the doctor.
A few minutes later I overheard Ms. Bevins instructing the nurse to take the mirror off of my drawer.
Divya is a story-teller, sorehead, whiner, occasionally a Pollyanna. (To sum it up – a personal/ lifestyle blogger!) She works for an IT company by day and blogs by night. Divya lives in India.