The Looking-Glass Sisters

Everything has been written, my story is complete, it disappears. And in a moment I will be gone.

Here, right at the beginning of memories, I am open to the idea that I, this dusty old thought of living, this primeval wish for a life, have not been conceived and born.

So now the room is empty and completely clean, and all that’s left is me and the bed. But of course we are also inseparable, forever bound to each other.

even my birthday in January has passed by unnoticed

Johan’s wedding night hammers against my eardrums. Is he punishing both Ragna and me?

And from that day on we’re divided into two irreconcilable camps: the married couple and me, we two and you, them and me.

Through an indescribable tiredness I register the fact that I am scarcely able to distinguish myself from the bed and the dust,

My god is oversensitive suffering. My gospels: illness and dependence. And my prayers: a constant yelping, mixed with moans and shrieks of pain.

And I know it makes me afraid, this recognition of the fact that I live through Ragna,

Will a memory like that save us, Ragna? Will it provide hope for a possible sisterliness?