Close you eyes, miss, he said. Close ’em. Let me confuse you, not knowing your name any more.
Gimel, miss, Potamotrygorgeous, miss. It’s always been you who has been the scattered one, mirr said. It always was you behind that veil. It always was you in that mirror. It always was you in the stories we made up. I wasn’t even there in the stories, you made me up too. I was the mud on your fingers, you dragged me along all this time, but you are washing yourself cleaner than glass now, a sharp piece of it anyway. I gave you life. Because I showed you partially what you are made for and that is this. It’s all your houses. All your doors. All your keys. All your entrances. I was the one who gave you confession sheep. Who gave you dream sheep. They existed before me, but you didn’t see it. They were you as well and they endured your hurt because you could not. They bore your burden because you could not.
Find your way in life, miss, I have too, I have found a lovely female sheep that makes my whiskers tremble, if I were a cat. She is good to me, good for me, she suits me well, and I am thinking about settling with her. Not for her, but with her. I think about you when I am with her, and this is something she will always have to live with. Think of me when you ink me, for I will be in you forever. Miss, I have many things to say to you.
There was heat underneath, a cheap flame pretended to be lit as the girl walked across the hall, holding the light, the water, the cups. In her illusion there were two, but she rather drank alone.  She could as well not walk across the hall, because she didn’t have to be there, there was a living room waiting for her, more nearby. Everything IKEA, well.. the couch is.
On the left side mirr  sat, hearing the piano play. We heard ourselves making these tiniest mistakes, confusing minor for major, and stopped playing a while ago. But aren’t the mistakes no better than the silence, mirr said to the music. You flutter from the day to the next, as do the sounds that enter my ears. It all makes sense now, you stick to me, mirr said. As many days as there are rooms in the house, that mirr described, where behind every door there was a mäh and a future. Some doors are closed. Some rooms have moved out. Some rooms need to be wallpapered with yesterday’s tears. Some tears are still in the cup, being heated up.
‘Decisions make a life’, mirr said. ‘It is because the line of the circle closes that makes it stand out from being a C’, you can never have a faulty piano play. All true, but there was one note missing.
This one book for dummies. About life itself. The ending of it. It was missing, open ended C. We asked mirr how it ended. Not knowing. Nobody knowing. Mirr chose not to open the book because of that and take the missing book off the shelf. He asked us the same question.
‘You are a different book now, therefore you cannot ask the same sheep’, he said.
You must continue this journey, you must believe in yourself, you must keep saying yes to life.
There are so many adventures ahead. I am so proud of you. It was so good to talk to you today, I heard the love in your voice and understood something, for the first moment.
We have become friends, and I was helping you see something that I had dealt with myself. You may take another path than I did, but you have courage and you have an immense will to live, and if your sheep of choice takes less than that, that will be his choice. But you cannot judge yourself for his cowardice. I raise myself at this moment, I can hear the wind blowing, fog has settled over the bay. And if you have time, please untie me?