She’d gazed, deep, into that looking glass, and saw, saw ALL of her childhood dreams, popping, one by one, like those, blown-out bubbles from the babes.
Through the looking glass of her broken dreams, she saw herself, being pulled up by her adult counterparts, before she could even stand up, let alone walk!
like this??? But not this happy! Not my photograph.
Through the looking glass of her broken dreams, she saw her self, but a whole lot younger, heard her own shrills and cries, and nobody was around, to tend to her. She saw herself, young as she once was, lying in her crib, crying hard, until she’d become, totally, hoarse, out of voice, and still, NOBODY came to pick her up to coo with her.
like this jar here, NOT my photograph still!
Through the looking glass of her broken dreams, she’d found, the bits and pieces of her shattered past, still attached to her mind’s body right now, even though, she’s, already an adult, and should’ve, gone past those times.
She wiggled her body, shook it down, and yet, NO piece of her past flaked off like they should, so, she’d, continued, walking those mile, with her broken past tying to her back, weighing her down………
Life, the Obstacle Course 