What Will You Do Today?

By Cath Lei
She recognized seasons by their texture, rough calluses on a musician’s hand softening after swimming pools in summer, frosty breath of an athlete in the winter. Hours, days, weeks and months recognizable with a single touch.
At the start of each day she runs her hand against the smooth surface of her mirror and tells herself “today, this smooth surface will ripple and tear”. And it does. Each choice, each movement adds more texture to her bedroom mirror. Each second becomes a catalyst of a butterfly effect. At night she runs her hand against the rugged terrain of her life painted on a mirror, taking note of each canyon and crevice, because the next morning, it will be smooth again. She recognized seasons by their texture, grand canyons for big mistakes in the middle of summer, smooth ponds for the steadiness of autumn. At the start of each day she asks herself what she’ll do that day - what will you do today?


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