Do you wish those who inflict those hurts to meet a mirror? I think you do, but then when you consider it again, you do not. You don't wish them to meet the same fate they inflicted, because you still care for them - that is the real source of hurt, that you cannot detach. And so, you cannot wish unto them what they had done to you.

I would like to note something that is in the background of this piece, both as a piece of poetry, and as it is intended: Friends are the family we choose for ourselves. And it still is very much family.

Good piece, Inna. I liked the way the rhymes start and finish the piece, drawing you in, and then sticking the landing, while in the midst things do not rhyme or reason so well. Jagged lines, for jagged scars.

I also like the imagery of dust and dirt, of corridors and old houses disturbed, of what makes us up and to what we will return. Of time. And hurt.