By: Brenna Barrett
Every day, I woke up and looked at her and she sat there looking back at me. The stark whiteness that washed over her face did not reflect over me. It distorted her features, broke her face into fragments, and wiped clean the color of her skin. Yet, she was me, and I was her. Our movements and speech patterns were alike but opposite. To draw the curtains and to block out the light only hid the whiteness that washed over her face. And then suddenly it was me, staring at myself. But, I didn’t recognize the person anymore for the whiteness, the light, seemed like the only thing that separated me from the person I had become. The light from the window, I knew, was not the only thing that differed me from my reflection.
~ Brenna Connell ~
I ride under the guise of a simple traveler,
Wandering far and wide in search of the distant unknown;
I keep myself hidden with every strange encounter
But by the fire, by my dear companions, away the cloak is thrown.
I paint word-pictures in the air, hold one-sided conversations,
Speak my truth and pierce the air with unapologetic honesty;
I see potential in the sparks of fire, the star-speckled sky
For grand epics and long-woven yarns, the making of a story.