The curse

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Then the day arrives you realise you look just like her. As much as you always fought the idea, as much as you were convinced that you look more like him, you realise in a flash, the second her eyes meet yours in the mirror. As if everyone has always been lying to you convincing you you are not in the slightest like her. But you realise you have her hair, her flair, her eyes. The eyes yes.

It scares you, you were convinced to be different. Sure you had very different lives. Sure you do not know anything of her nor does she of you. Sure. But there she is. The piercing look freezing you to the spot.

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It is her, looking at you through the glass, through your own eyes. And you cannot stop the thinking process, it flashes right in front of you, her face of many years ago when her face was your face. What did she do back then. How different both lives are. And yet you see the similarities. You think it is the curse she laid upon you. The curse. The curse that defines your life. The curse that anguishes even more the pain. The pain she created, the pain she aggravated. The pain transformed over time, it got taken over by another entity. The pain that cursed you. And despite your efforts to prove to yourself that you are your own person, that you are not her, that the pain does not control you, that all that you got is thanks to yourself, yet there she is looking at you in the mirror. You have the flair for which men surrendered or at least you like to think you have. She had the flair. And yet she doesn’t seem to have the curse. She laid it upon you as a ghost haunting you. The curse.

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