Pulled From The Edge

I closed my eyes to the world, 

Disappearing in my odd musings

And opened to see the magic mirror, 

Quite similar to the one in the fairy tale, 

Except perhaps the question and its answer. 

" Mirror, mirror on the wall, whose fault was it all? "

" Your words, your actions and your thoughts. 

The fault is yours and yours alone, my mistress. "

The dark circles grew heavier with passing. 

The lips forgot how to smile with joy. 

All was tolerable perhaps but the excruciating pain. 

It twisted around my heart and clenched it tight. 

It became a painful bulge in my throat, that I couldn't swallow. 

My life dimmed from vibrant colours to greys. 

My unexplained existence, utter desolation, 

Quietly broke me, and what I was, from within. 

Till the kind face asked me, "How are you? "

And I let my emotions flow, a tsunami of self-hate. 

A pile of sobbing mess brought close to warmth. 

An unknown gesture, another might fe

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el it ordinary, 

But for me, it was the rope that l saved me from drowning. 

The face stayed with me, colouring my life, 

Picking me up, giving me crutches, teaching me to walk. 

Hope was born with that tiny, inconsequential action.

An acknowledgement and a warm embrace. 

I still keep the mirror in my little room, 

But the questions have changed over time, 

And along with it the answers as well. 

" Do you think I look pretty today? "

" Will I have a great day today? "

"Is it worth waking up each day? "

My dear mirror squeaks, "Yes mistress"  to all. 

Sure I have my bad days in which I shrivel up, 

But I know the kind face is just a call away. 

I never forget to smile at a stranger

Or to wave a hand at a friend,

I do not shy away from asking if all is good

Or perhaps listening to woes and giving a firm hug

Because it really does matter in the end, 

Since I firmly believe in the butterfly effect.