The glass was cold.
Kirby was soft.

These were my thoughts as I leaned against the mirror. Cold glass, soft plushie. Some things are just better left simple. Did I want to think about the people who were randomly abandoning me? Did I want to think about eating again? More and more like when I'm bored? Being alone is a dangerous thing to be. That's when the darkness comes. The sad thoughts, the dark thoughts, the sad, drippy, oily place where all the bad thoughts come to gather.

I find myself lying on the ground, in bed, or trying to sleep several times a day. It's boring and depressing when you have no one around to rant at. Putting off things and trying to occupy your own body is too tiring, takes entirely too much effort.

Trying to come up with another masterpiece about the bending line of reality. Where is this? I'm on the other side of a bubble that no one else notices. We're all wrapped up in our little lives, our little activities; taking up our own space with garbage and trinkets. The problem is that our spaces are all bubbles with walls attached. Clear, sticky, thick; what are we supposed to do with all this?

I fell through my mirror once. I broke through, fell in, and only climbed back out because it was too cold in there. Mirrors have nothing inside of them. I used to like to think there were portals to hell or other peoples' places in there, but really it's just a long, dark, cold corridor that hangs straight down. You can walk in a downward spiral, but there's nothing else down there.

Last time I broke a mirror, the entire thing just turned into sand. Glittery, sharp sand that I had to pick up by hand because the vacuum wasn't good at holding it all in. It seemed like such a waste to throw it away, but there wasn't really a place for it. If I kept it in a vase, one of the cats might have gotten to it, not to mention the clumsiness of my family. Besides, keeping glass glitter around seems like it'd be bad luck for somebody.