Beads of sweat and apprehension stream down the faces lining the wall. Sideways glances, shifting weight, "accidental" bumpings wave through the bodies. Whispers elevate to expectatious murmurs as "telelphone" begins its insidious journey from ear to mouth to ear again - at one point humorous - ultimately ending in adverse gloom. These are my prisoners.
Required to validate all my choices, decisions, thoughts, words, deeds, I held each one of them hostage. To stand at the ready - or so I thought - to hand out criticism, shame, and judgement for any and all aspects of my life. Although I never verbally solicited their opinion, they gave freely. And I, to my credit or detriment, heeded the "guidance."
Years would pass and lifetimes lived before I summoned the courage to look into the eyes of those prisoners, only to find myself standing in a hall of mirrors. I was not surprised. The reflections of me shift uncomfortably from the weight of my demands. I, too, feel like running. Where to go from here I do not know, but I cannot take you with me. In knowing unison, "we" bow our heads.
"Blame lives on the breath between the words should and do," says the wind funneling through the only door out. I want to leave the words with the mirrors, as if they are the problem. No, it's always been me. I lift my gaze and head outside; another day, another life.
