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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