The Mirror

I looked into the mirror and saw at once it wasn’t me. It wasn’t my face. It was someone else pretending to be me. Or perhaps it was someone else pretending to be someone else. But the face was not my face. It wasn’t the face I was born with nor the face I shall die with. Although the face looked back at me as if it knew me. The eyes wouldn’t let go. They were piercing. But they weren’t my eyes. They were someone else’s eyes. They were black. A girl I knew once told me her eyes were blue. That’s what she said anyway. Always took a catnap between lunch and tea. She lived somewhere off Fulham Broadway. I never went there. I of course had a room in St John’s Wood High Street at the time. We used to meet on Shepherd’s Bush Green. I no longer remember her name. It could have been Lucy or Lisa. But that is all in the past. She wouldn’t recognise me now anyway. I’ve changed my face.

Harold Pinter

~ από basileios στο Ιουνίου 11, 2008.

2 Σχόλια to “The Mirror”

  1. Εξαιρετικό !!! (Όπως άλλωστε κι ο Μπέϊκον)
    (το απόσπασμα του Πίντερ από πού είναι; )

  2. ειναι απο ενα παλιότερο τεύχος του Arete:


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