Chris Lovekin


I am Thomas’ reflection. Every Morning, he awakens from his sleep and stumbles into the bathroom… he makes faces, so many faces. I’m sick of the faces. Half an hour at a time, he makes them. Disdainful, outrageous faces. I mimic his every action, I have no choice. This resent within, never subsides. Everyday, staring, glaring. Minutes turn to days

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