Self pity is strange -
it makes you acknowledge that there's a separate part of you looking down on a lesser version of, well, you.

Can we be lesser in some parts, and greater in others?

When I look in the mirror and see a woman who has no courage to let any tears fall, a woman who fears what comes after the rain has left, a woman who is barely breathing -
does she exist?

When I look in the mirror and see a woman who has cried so long that her eyelids are swollen, a woman who gladly walks outside when the rain has stopped, a woman who is breathing so much that her heart is asking for mercy -
does she exist?

I know these two women have the same face, the same eyes, the same trembling hands, the same black ink that litters their skin.

But I'm concerned with what the mirror doesn't show. Are they the same on the inside?

Do their hearts beat in tandem?
Do they recognize each other?

I think one of them would place a palm over her chest and the other would allow a tear to fall.
That would be the only answer I need -
after all, they know more about me than I do.