Through the Looking Glass

[Spicy Serious]

Stare in the mirror, repeat the words. 

 “Myrrah A. Al’Britu.”
 “Myrrah A. Al’Britu.”

It’s not forgotten. It’s still there.

“Myrrah A. Al’Britu.”
“Myrrah Aetris Al’Britu.”

They’re still with you. Just like they always have been. 

“Myrrah Aetris Al’Britu.”
“Myrrah A. Al’Britu.”

Maybe to others they were a footnote. Maybe not even that. But they’re still with you, still in your name. Still in your memory. Still beside you. Still somewhere out in the forests, in a cozy little village nestled between rolling hills. 

Lost in chasms of the earth, or hated by so many. Martyrs of simple answers, of far-away hubris. All I have left of those old days are my memories, and the fantasy of you being here today. Of you meeting my children, and them seeing these places held so perfectly in my mind. Still and picturesque. 

But for now, just breathe. Bury the regret, bury the hatred like you always do…and say your name. 

“Myrrah A. Al’Britu.”