⟨ status: complete ⟩
"They say artists are nothing but sad people, unaccepted by society of who they are. Masking themselves in 'personas' to fit in." She turned to him, placing her beloved paintbrush on the table with her face adorning a beautiful...
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Mirror, mirror, can you be a dear lend me your thoughts? Am I good looking enough to stand by their side? Do tell me.
Mirror, mirror, please lend me your thoughts, is my smile too wide—too unnatural? Or perhaps it's my eyes, is it too dull? Should I widen it up in public so I won't look angry all the time?
I tried to be normal, I tried to make friends- I really did!
But being one with the crowd is too exhausting, pretending to like what you don't is draining, talking with others is tiring; maintaining relationships with others is too troublesome. But I'm trying, I really am.
Mirror, mirror, please I'm scared. I don't want to lose them too. They're fun and different, and very charming, they make my dull life so exhilarating.
What if one day I won't find them exciting anymore? What if I slowly ignore them like I did to other people? What if I hurt them? Oh god, I don't want to do that— I'd never want to do that.
Mirror please tell me what I should do, they're the best thing that has ever happened in the 16 lonely years of my life. I don't want to lose them— I can't.
Mirror, mirror, mirror, why does every truth you show me hurts? Every imperfections, every impurities you reflect back to me, why must you show it? Why can't you just show the good things? It hurts less.
I see, I see, of course how can I forget? Without imperfections, there will be no strive for improvement. Yes, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You shouldn't be the one to blame, I asked what I wanted to see and you simply gave an unbiased answer, after all. Silly me.
"I thought it's a novel, but I guess it's Abuelo's fancy old diary of some sort." The girl said as she turned page after page on the dusty old book. She was just supposed to take a little peek at it's contents but she can't help but relate to every entry he wrote, she was able to see what he was like back then, very similar to her, she concludes. She was yet to be born to be even able meet her grandfather back then, all she knows is that he looks like her Papá due to the photos that hung upon their humble living room.
Mirror, mirror, mirror, did you know that Encanto's infamous seer, Bruno, told me I was going to die before I'll get to see my grandchild?
The poor child immediately ducked down and muttered a myriad of apologies to me, I wonder why? I wasn't even mad, not even my wife was. I want to tell him that it's okay, that it's fine, but I don't know how to. I just stood there as he looked at me as if I'm going to hit him, the poor child been through so much hate that I wish I can apologize for asking him a vision instead.
I want to tell him that I'm happy with the vision he gave me, for at least I knew that my family would be as prosperous as before left them. Thank you Bruno Madrigal, I hope that everyone in the village understand that you cannot control what you show them. And to my future grandchildren, I hope you know that your Abuelo loves you very much and is watching you from the stars.
