Of broken mirrors and pixie dust
the water shatters with light, bouncing diluted warmth from its mirror-like countenance.

 maybe that's why the world is so grey, she thinks as she sits upon the edge. if the ocean shines like a broken mirror always then that must be an entire eternity of bad luck, by now.

she's not superstitious, but that's what she thinks. and if superstition was what the rest of the world believed, then who's to say it wasn't a self-fulfilling prophecy?

belief holds power, strength. she knows that.

that's why she didn't believe in anything, not even herself.

she is weak.

and as contradictory as that is, she believes that with certainty.

.....she jumps.

the birds around her fly to their own freedom, dancing on the wind the way the sun danced on the waters below.

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