Residual Self Image

I visited the thrift store, on foot, to exchange some clothes.
I carried them in a green plastic basket.
Unhappy with their fit, I’d hoped to change my appearance.
Transformation.
Rebirth.
I wanted these clothes to fit a certain way, but they wouldn’t.
I was uncomfortable inside them. They showed too much.
But the threads didn’t complain.
Still, I bought all new shirts. I put them on. The mirror…
The clothes fit the same way. No matter how I wore them, or in what combination.
I was the same. But they didn’t complain.
I tore the shirts in frustration.
In desperation, I ripped from end to end.
I was naked. Alone.
I had vowed I would always change, and now I had nothing.
No one.
Would the gentle woman at the register please exchange my mirror for a window?

philpirrip