I’ve never liked the idea of a person being a mirror. Being pieces of broken glass. I’ve heard people relate to this – a broken mirror put back together, never fully the same, but still there. Still some semblance of what it had been. In places where the glass broke easily, it was able to reform and be “glued back together”, but there would always be some spots missing. Some spots unable to be found. Broken, disappeared for good.
I am not broken glass. I am not a shattered mirror. Pieces of me are not gone, missing, unable to be found.
I am folded paper – paper that’s been folded so many times that the creases can be easily found, could be ripped seamlessly, frayed. I am a swan folded so many times that there are holes wearing in my thin skin. I will never have missing pieces, because no one ever took anything from me. Nothing was cut so surely out of my life that it would return, or I would not grow over it.
I do have parts that are covered so fully by other pieces of folds that it would take a master to dive underneath the shadows and find places where the paper just barely meets, where I’m hidden but not trapped within the bends. You can’t see them unless you’re looking for them. You can’t get to them unless you unfold me.
I am thin, holed, frayed, folded paper. I am ornate in my patterns. I can be anything. I don’t have missing pieces – I will always have them, be them, be part of them. I am origami. I am not broken glass.