It’s called a delayed reflection when you look in the mirror and see a paper doll. You see ink stains bleeding through and holes that lead to nothing but air. You see brittle origami in the glass but your love promises to show you the bustle in empty streets and the rush in the old and everything else the reflections in your eyes haven’t caught up to. You ask him if this is the time difference of mirrors as you cry on his chest, fitting into the atmosphere of his being. He takes you by the hand and whispers, there, there, you won’t crinkle. It’s a deafening sound, outrunning the light, as you realize your flesh in the people around.
Angela Sim is an English major at George Mason University, who enjoys writing flash fiction and prose poetry. When she isn’t writing, she’s traveling with her family and daydreaming about going to Japan.