At
night, a woman was looking into the mirror while brushing her hair. The only
lights in the room were those of the scattered candles and of the fireplace. Her
back to the silent flames of the fire, she startled when instead of her face,
the mirror reflected a leaping flame.
She turned thinking that the fire grew taller,
but the tamed flames flowing their orange shadows on the walls told her
otherwise.
“Why did you scare me, mirror?” she asked.
“What have you seen?” whispered back the
mirror.
“A fierce flame burning proudly.”
“Well, a mirror cannot reflect other but what
it has in front of it.”
The woman thought for a while about her life,
lost in the reflection in the mirror. She had lived it as a feeble flame
sometimes, for other times to live it as weak as the embers.
“I want passion; I want to live with passion
in every aspect of my life. I want to burn like a fire even if that means
consuming all of my self in one day. That day would be lived with such intensity,
as I will never be able to reach in one thousand existences otherwise. I know
that a small sparkle can kindle a whole forest, but where does that sparkle
come from if not from a fire? And when it generates another one, it melts in it
and becomes anonymous, and the fire remains the only one that consumes with
passion. I want the fire.” she said standing up and opening the window letting
the light of the moon dance with the flames.
© Copyright 2013 Irina Serban. All rights reserved
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