I am the mirror that hung on Emma's wall, watching her every move, listening to her whispered secrets at night. I saw her grow, I witnessed her reflection stare back with wounded eyes after every heartbreak. Truth? I once dropped a fragment of the past, 'He is not worth your tears,' I whispered to the girl brushing her hair.
Ticking alongside the mundane, I am the clock that murmurs to the walls. My hands are slow, weary of the secrets I've held. I waited in vain as she cried after he left, each tick a reminder of what could have been. 'Time moves on, even if you don't,' I sigh, my gears grating against the silence.
I am the worn-out pair of shoes resting expectantly by the door. Walk with me, I whisper, tracing paths through damp mornings and sunlit afternoons. Each scuff on my leather tells a story of missed opportunities, a comfort shared beneath foreign stars. The soles ache to be told, 'You will never tread paths unloved.'
Allow me to pull you beneath today’s bland truths and paint you skies I witnessed unravel in desperate moments of solace. I am the page floater, holding echoes of unwritten words—tales caught in between. Thorny dreams spill ink that never glimmers; I regret only once saying, "Bind me."
Listen to the ticking Emma's Myth Uncover more Mirage Items