“But being self obsessed has its benefits,” she asserted.
She didn’t look at him the entire time she was speaking. There was a mirror on the wall.
“There may be a delay but you find it,” she looked sideways towards him briefly to let him know she still saw him. “I’ve clogged things with more diversion but I’ve found them. Overthinking creates stories and is another safety blanket, just like stuffing yourself with people, food, luxury, garments, money. It’s not at all satiating really.” She stuck her tongue out without noticing. “But those parables play tricks that lead you into places. Places that deserve to mourn, to breathe, be open. Let yourself bleed out and you discover some deep crevices that deserve to be abysmal. Deserve to be left alone once and for all.”
Her eyes darted a bit when she spoke. Not as if she was unsure but as if she was listening to someone else.
Glancing at the floor, she added, “The void. Some people don’t even know which wounds they are hiding, let alone which deserve to stay or how many times they can die and revive in one lifetime. They never even try.”
She shrugged, began to stand up.
“And you,” he raised his head to catch her eye. “The graceful phoenix.”
She had turned to walk away but her eyes caught him that instant.
“I do not burn to come back to life though,” she furrowed her brow.
“No?” he grinned, still sitting, staring up at her.
Walking towards it, she kept her attention on the mirror. Attempting to flatten a strand of hair poking out, she marinated in his question. He sat with his hands in his lap in front of her, patient. He sat there like that for what felt like hours. She reveled in his eye. Her lips spread open suddenly into a slow, mirthless grin and she didn’t turn to look at him again.
“No, I am made of fire.”