To Catch a GlimpseI stand, my fingers clenched around a paintbrush, waiting for the moment between dark and day. The moment my image becomes visible in the glass before me.It is as it has been for more years than I can remember. I waken, as if from a dream, the coppery taste of blood in my mouth. I hold no memory of how I spent the night, but I cannot hide from what I know.The shadows weaken. Light peers in through my partially curtained window. It touches first the ceiling where the strong wooden beams support my haven. Then down it creeps, grazing the bureau that holds my meager clothing. Finally, it brushes the edge of my stool before flashing brilliant against the reflective surface before me.In that brief moment, I see haunted eyes trapped in a face unchanged by passing time.I reach for the image, a desperate attempt to comfort the man depicted there.The paint on my brush dabs against glass, putting me one more stroke closer to capturing my likeness and breaking my curse.
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