Kristen/ Bronson
Little White Houses
2009
You go to check your lipstick in the window, in your reflection, in the noon day sun. And you're hoping that you can catch and see if you're lips are on straight, because you need to know if your smile is in control. Or you're never going to be able to smile at all. But then the sun shifts, and you have to look out. Beyond your own reflection and onto the city you're passing. And it's abysmal to you. Simple and Square. And there are neverending checkers of white houses, and wires, and hopes tangled. And then you start judging when you shouldn't be really, because...

Everything you're looking at, is still just your own reflection. Your face is in the rooftops, on the porch and...packed in the basement, like memories hidden...

And no matter how you comb your hair, and no matter how you pretend it's not...it is. And it is you...
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