the stories your mirror tells
This is a challenge. For you.
Stare into a mirror for a minute.
One full minute. (Use an egg timer/oven timer/your phone to time it.)
And when the minute is up, write whatever it inspires.
Fiction/non-fiction. A laundry list of things you like or don’t like. A modern re-telling of Cinderella where she’s trying to work her way up from the streets with nothing but her mad dance skillz and pluck.
It can be anything. In any format.
Just write it.
Then post it on your blog/tumblr/bathroom wall.
You can link back here, so others can read the instructions and join in too. You can leave a comment below with a link to your piece.
But you don’t have to.
Just write it.
Here is mine:
Lines of experience are hard to see.
And they’re not wrinkles
The older you get, the more important that distinction is.
Stubble, born of laziness, is stroked lightly by a hand with scars that tell manly stories.
You run the hand through hair that wants to be pulled.
It stands up.
But slowly falls, as you open your mouth a little, and trace your finger around slightly chapped lips that need to be kissed.
Then kissed again.
A mirror will tell you the truth, if you let it.
Sunlight comes in, beside the blind, splitting your face in two.
Causing you to think about the duality of man.
Which causes you to laugh.
With a smirk more than a smile.
As you stand here this morning, one thing becomes clear:
Lines of experience may be hard to see sometimes.
But they disappear completely when you find the right person.