My Reflection and Me

 Featured art by Jaime Best. Click title image to visit her studio.

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 Michele McLaughlin “Spiritual Awakening”

Back when life was but a dream, I learned to set a handsome scene. No constraints for I was free to be just who I wished to be. I wished to be carefree and maybe act a little carelessly. Climb the tallest tree and swing from precipice precariously. The only thing amiss was someone just as keen to share with me the feeling, that of simply being seen.

This was until my other me encouraged me to leap.

To search for hidden secrets in my keep.

To pluck up all my courage and remember I was free. To wander here and wander there, declare of in-between. In honour of my playmate, I commenced a grand adventure. And shared with her the feeling, that of simply being seen.

Her hair was in ringlets that tickled my cheeks.

Every time we touched noses and shuffled our feet to the one place where we could dance daydreams, build castles. Be just who we wished to be, share sense of mystery. Marvel the view and in absolute symmetry. Dizzily spin through the piles of dead leaves, reach within them and pin them to each hope and dream. Set a midsummer scene in the bleakest midwinter. And kiss each other’s fingers at the first hint of a splinter. Innocence was ours as we both held on to devout that, in our special place, the monsters weren’t so mean. Having wandered here and there, felt safer in-between.

To search for hidden secrets in our keep.

She was my reflection.

One both flawless and serene.

For her bright eyes they widened every time she turned to smile at me.

Confiding every hope and dream through cheeks that dressed a vocal beam. And in that very moment, I felt seen.

Suddenly, I woke from dream and she was neither here nor there. Had no idea where but the butterfly that fluttered in my tummy made it clear that she was nearby, in-between. I screwed my eyes tight but it was way past time to sleep. Our purple palace of imagination incomplete.

For celestial ages, I waited most patiently.

Then, somewhat belatedly, faith intervened.

My twin dreamer dreamed a harmonious dream.

In a moment, our minds set the very same scene.

Beneath the staircase.

Opened by the rusted key entrusted keeping deep within the pantry, on the top shelf, in plain view for all to see. Had always been beyond my childlike reach. However, together we were never one time beaten by retreat. Beneath the staircase, in our purple palace, we were free. To sit atop a precipice that overlooked the trees.

My twin dreamer and I never gave up belief.

That one fine day, we’d learn the deepest secrets in our keep.

Our courage and brave would encourage we leap.

In a moment of dream reconvened.

We were home in this place.

We were seen.

Here and there.

In the great in-between.

A fairytale palace dressed in luminescent lichen.

Where monsters declared no intention to frighten.

Had we known our special place had always been inside us.

Then we never would have dared the light to guide us.

My playmate and I.

My reflection and me.

Destined friends bereft of ending.

Building castles by the sea.

Quietly reflective.

Blessed.

And free.

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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3 Comments

    1. Thank you so much Ann and apologies for only just seeing this. Glad you have been leaping and truly appreciative for the feedback. I trust you will enjoy your time here.

  1. This is one of the most touching stories I’ve ever read and one I’ll keenly revisit. This ought to be a fairytale publication aimed at children young and never too old.

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