He looked himself in the mirror as he walked by. It’s a strange
habit he has for when he see’s a reflection of himself he likes to take a quick
glimpse of it. Not because he’s shallow or narcissistic, but to see if there is
any reason at all to be proud of himself.
And like so many times before, he tried again. But the mirror showed what it always showed,
sad blue grayish eyes staring back at him with a burning hope of change. He quickly took his eyes of the mirror and went back into the living room where his roommate was studying in a little corner of the chamber. He stared at his own books and realized he had so much work to do but just couldn't get himself started. ‘Is this all there is to me?’ He wondered when he sat down behind his laptop, wishing it would be a typewriter like they had back in the 1940’s so he could finally start to write this idea he had for quite some time now.
See, he always wanted to be a writer but never really got further than scrabbling little poems in a black notebook he carried around all the time. And when he finally found time to write he’d tell himself that he wasn't ready to tell his story, that it has to be perfect.
He didn't want to disappoint himself. All he wants is to look in the mirror with pride. To look in those blue grayish eyes and tell them that he finally made his own standards which are so impossibly high.
Looking to his empty screen he grabbed his phone that was resting next to his elbow and started to read previous messages he had.
Did he screw that up too? Or was there still hope in that area of his life?
While he scrubbed his eyes back open, refusing them to close for just a second, he typed in a text message that he would never have the courage to send.
After deleting those words of truth from his phone he stared for a quiet moment and whispered ‘coward’, obviously addressed to himself.
He turned off his phone, closed his laptop and dived into his books, hoping not to drown in those words that were forever holding him back.
And like so many times before, he tried again. But the mirror showed what it always showed,
sad blue grayish eyes staring back at him with a burning hope of change. He quickly took his eyes of the mirror and went back into the living room where his roommate was studying in a little corner of the chamber. He stared at his own books and realized he had so much work to do but just couldn't get himself started. ‘Is this all there is to me?’ He wondered when he sat down behind his laptop, wishing it would be a typewriter like they had back in the 1940’s so he could finally start to write this idea he had for quite some time now.
See, he always wanted to be a writer but never really got further than scrabbling little poems in a black notebook he carried around all the time. And when he finally found time to write he’d tell himself that he wasn't ready to tell his story, that it has to be perfect.
He didn't want to disappoint himself. All he wants is to look in the mirror with pride. To look in those blue grayish eyes and tell them that he finally made his own standards which are so impossibly high.
Looking to his empty screen he grabbed his phone that was resting next to his elbow and started to read previous messages he had.
Did he screw that up too? Or was there still hope in that area of his life?
While he scrubbed his eyes back open, refusing them to close for just a second, he typed in a text message that he would never have the courage to send.
After deleting those words of truth from his phone he stared for a quiet moment and whispered ‘coward’, obviously addressed to himself.
He turned off his phone, closed his laptop and dived into his books, hoping not to drown in those words that were forever holding him back.
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