pale violet red;

666 66 8
                                    

The illusion of forty eight hours
whisked away before my fingers found
their way to my phone's screen as the
number dialed into my life's timeline.

After two rings, a woman spoke
on the other line. Her voice mimicking
mine so synonymously.

"Hello, who is this?" She questioned. "This is Maria,
who am I speaking to?"

I hung up.

I looked at myself in
the mirror hanging against my wall,
my features looked so different from
yesterday, as if I could not recognize myself
anymore.

I used to think my eyes looked like my
father's and my smile was the same as
my mother's, but the second I heard her
voice, all of those tiny comparisons to fit
into my family fell apart like tiny pieces
of glass.

"I'm not ready, not yet." I whispered to
me, myself, and I.

shades of redWhere stories live. Discover now