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she studies me. 

A different luxury 

hanging from her neck, her fingers.

Lips curled in satisfaction. 



she brings home another reflection.

A guy—sometimes a girl—that never glances at me 

even once.

Or come back a second time to see the 

hollowed eyes, the 

humourless laughs, a 

tired face, that 

I see 




I try  

to touch her, 

but they hold me back, this invisible barrier, 

hissing of the retribution if I cross the line.

And I wonder 

How am I alive when I’m 

Not supposed to be?


That night,

I sat below the lonely sky

running my fingers along the empty glass wall 

and whispered,

Where does it hurt?





she answers.

A quiet, raspy voice, and

my heart breaks,

For me and

for her. 

A mirror and a broken human.

The Girl On The Other Side

By melvina cheong


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