Part II: He

He -  dried milk on his whiskers and white eyes staring into darkness.

He - the misspelled spell that turned into curse for other hearts.

He - broken bones, yellow skin, dark circles surrounding the eyes and a smile that can barely be noticed on his mean lips; he used to be young.

He - the saviour of Juliette and the one butcher that sliced Romeo's throat on his way to Verona.

He - a secret well kept from all Gods of the Old World, an elixir of a lost nation, hidden under the roots of a wild willow.

He - the carpenter with magic hands, carving and carving into wooden hearts, putting magic into music boxes; he used to live in a whale.

He - a mocking fire burning brighter as years went by him.

He - a traveller.

He - the kid that hugs a kitten to death, crying for the moon and asking for forgiveness when the numb body hangs expressionless and soulless, bending ungainly over his skinny arm; he used to have a soul.

He - it's all broken now: time, memory, smiles and tears, they're all holy spirits, ghosts in old castles made of broken dream.

He - the lost ability of one to put down on paper the moon and sun, bring all together in a circle of immortality.

He - the dance of butterflies, the winter touching the spring; he used to be lost.

He - a still green leaf during mid-autumn.

He - a child with blue eyes and curly hair, darkness and just one light illuminating the whole world; he used to be shallow.

He - "Where do I go?"

He - Christmas all passed and carols can still be heard during midsummer inside his chest, echoing in his rib cage.

He said he was fine. And he lived happily-ever-after, two heartbeats echoing inside of him forever and always...

Part I: She

She - a pair of hands lost in too deep pockets, soaked in fragments of icy shards.

She - two eyes, always looking around with fear, always looking down before anyone could read her clouded mind.

She - a flowery dress worn-out, holes showing bruised skin and blue veins pierced here and there.

She - a pool of teddy bears and balls, a world of wonders where you could get yourself lost if you'd have the courage to stay around long enough for her to let you in.

She - the magic brought from the North, the lights, the cold, the warmth and the soft breeze of a still ocean that hides deep waters under its tranquility.

She - so much warmth that it feels like the center of the Earth moved inside of her rib cage; and nobody would receive it from her.

She - a smile bitten down to blood, hidden behind silenced words.

She - the book that never got to be read because the title wasn't that interesting.

She - an old soul that got lost on its way and remained still for a second to rest, then forgetting the feeling of moving around for eons.

She - centuries of romance written in her eyes and on the hems of her skirts.

She - never remembered, never quite forgotten, always misplaced, never fully understood.

She - the one woman that owned the Heaven and Earth together, the one woman that set them apart.

She - bruises and tears, all fragments of the past brought together in one single, trembling heart; and she's supposed to be fine.

She - a lullaby she'd sing only after midnight, when all demons are out and watching from the corners of her uneven broken heart.

She - a collection of troubles and smiles thrown away.

She - a heart full of desire and dreams.

She had only one and one heart only and even that she gave it away as a present on one snowy day...

Barely Breathing

Coldness leaves her fingers numb as she breathes warmth against her skin. The bus is late once again.

She's holding tight on her plastic bag, wishing it was a warm hand instead, her eyes never leaving the direction from where cars pass zooming by her. It makes her blink as if it's a hard to understand fact, as if someone had just insulted her and she's just too shocked to react. 

Light.

Her eyes perceive it as globes of warmth, glowing and dispersing the darkness all around, bouncing around like multicoloured balls of plastic. But her heart is blind. The light in her eyes does not reach her heart - the poor mechanism could be dead.

Coldness bites her cheeks and there she is, biting it back in the corner of her lips, until rust drips on her tongue like warm honey-dew. She's left once again without any feeling, without the possibility to move forward or backwards. And images come and go flying in front of her eyes and she feels like braking down...

She's been broken so many times that she forgot the feeling of being glued back together. So many times has she been dropped on the floor, carelessly picked up and placed back at the start that her knees are more familiar to the coldness of the ground than the warmth of a sheet. So many times she heard bad words swishing the air like a punishment that now she does not even blink in front of all those piercing cussings and glares.

She's been there and back.

Hell was red and white, but mostly blue.

For she was the nice doll received on Christmas and put through a complete make-over with dripping make-up and chopped hair at the back, with lipstick stains peeling off her rosy cheek. She was the doll that was stripped off her clothes and forgotten in a wooden chest where she first learned the meaning of being alone. She been the favourite toy only to fall in disgrace, like all the Gods of the old Olympus, their lights flickering, forgotten on the bottom of the memory abyss.

She's been the bad guy, the lonely one, the one that would forever walk alone.

She's been there, she's done all that.

And now the bus is late once again. How heartless can one be to let another soul be bitten by coldness, surrounded by ice, swallowed by the whiteness of a dark snow?

The wig is coming off, she's tossing it away and cars try to avoid it, crashing one into another. She's tired of trying to go back to being the one she used to be: the doll that used to stare blankly from the shelves, looking all prideful and perfect with her locks of dark hair framing her oval shaped face. She's finally letting people see the stains of make-up covering her skin like the stains of a untreated acne. 

And stripped of all the gimmicks, she finally sees the light. It comes crashing into her, pushing her chest inwards, making the silence hum inside it. And locks fall open, rusty chains are put on fire, melted into silver and a beat is throbbing loudly, echoing in between her ribs.

She now remembers: there used to be a teddy bear once, a dusty one, all yellow and dirty, but the possessor of a warm heart and a kind smile. A teddy bear, one that used to hug her, hold he tight, making her feel powerful when all that remained behind was dust. There once used to be love.

She used to love.

But when the house burned, he burned with it, while she was saved by muddy hands when all she ever wished for was dying under her very eyes. And that's when she became someone unrecognizable: fake hair, fake make-up, fake posture, heck, even her beliefs were turned into faking. All that remained of her was a warm smile of the doll that once wished to make a someone smile, to offer comfort to the crying one and days of bliss when darkness would creep in.

She lost herself and spent decades trying to become a person that would be loved. A person. A human being with feelings, a heart without fear, a voice in the crowd.

She hoped all this time when in fact she was barely breathing... for she had forgotten all about her teddy bear...

Abyss

My words scramble down the paper, they flow restlessly and form lines - lines of pain, lines of black blood trickling down the white sheet of paper, soaking it with dark circles. They do not tell a story and they do not tell the truth. My words are but my reflected image put down, not in a drawing, but in a sketch of lines and countless question marks.

My words are the obnoxious part of me, the one that is trapped somewhere deep inside the abyss of my soul. For that who does not recognize darkness inside is but a mere fool. Darkness is there: in you, oh yes, in you too. It's like a seed planted way before time, a seed fallen from the maggoty forbidden fruit Eve has picked out as the most delicious apple there was in Eden's Garden. And it's growing... day by day, minute by minute, it spreads its roots and it cages your heart into an iron-like fist. It torments your soul, it makes you scream from the inside. That is not you. That is not the real you! That is not who they're supposed to see, to judge. But there you are, trapped, a porcelain doll among so many others.

And there's nothing that could deliver your soul from evil.

But these are my words, my magical power, my way of defeating the dragon at the end of the story. For I got the power to say when it's done and the power to write 'Fin' at the end of this book. It's mine - the power belongs to me.

So come meet me, dear reflected image. Come meet me, to settle this once and for all! For I see the way you try to stretch out of your glassy mirror, your eyes rummaging around for a hand to hold on. I recognize that look in your eyes - after all, your face mirrors my own feelings... And I do not want to end up trapped behind glossy glass!

So come meet me, dear reflected image. These are my words, my world, my salvation. I will give him up to you, 'cause he's turned blind and cannot see the bloody tears rolling down my cheeks. He never really did anyway...

Darkness.

These are my words.

Reflected.

I'm part of you just as much as you grow inside of me - the symptoms of a new disease.