Windows and glass tables

The reflection in my mirror is wondering the same thing as me, on the opposite end of a decision I was afraid to make.

I want to commit an atrocity. Each time I look down into the city I reside, I see myself reflected in the mirrors, in the cityscape, wondering, contemplating commiting this quiet obscenity.

The me I am would never do such a thing, never even dream of it. The atrocity itself is one that induced many of nightmares and warrants unwanted thoughts. Thoughts that should be chased away.

When I look away, does my reflection grin? Does my reflection know the sweet satisfaction of having done it? Does the reflection of my inner psyche know what consequences have the equal reaction?

I wonder if when I put down my wine glass on this dusty glass table, is the dusty version of me looking back? Are they enjoying the same glass of Merlot? Do they hate it too?

My husband might be their husband too, or maybe they had to just pretend to match my image. Was the mirrored me also violated by the same unwanted hands? Were they loved by the same tender heart that fixed it all up when the pain of a forced situation felt it could never be mended?

Does my reflection look at me and wonder if I was raped too? Does my reflection wonder if they should get revenge like my horrible atrocious thoughts force me to think?

If my reflection had been in my situation, maybe she wouldn't feel guilty for wanting to use a corrupt system to avenge herself the way I sometimes hate to feel. Maybe she wouldn't be afraid to hit back.

My reflection looks at me and sees a coward.

She wonders if her own reflection would've been too afraid to do it. She wonders if her reflection had the strength to actually go through with it too. She knows her reflection is the worst part of her, exposes all the flaws and fears.

She knows she would've never been brave, so how could I be? The only thing the mirror image of us can do is regret that it isn't the other.

Neither of us are particularly brave, neither of us can follow through with revenge if it involves taking advantage of an unjust system. Neither of us believes there's someone else on the other side.

We are nearly identical, she's just got bangs that go to the left, while mine go to the right.

We're both the best and worst versions of ourselves, when she smiles, I smile. When she dies, I will die. When she gets justice, I'll be happy for her.

Even now as I look into the eyes that are the same color as mine, I wonder if I can even like her when I don't like her reflection.