A mirror reflects the physical forms that your soul and your mind manifest itslelf in. It can be changed, transformed, manipulated. The mirror, without much effort, breaks into a million pieces, and you are rid of the haunting image that stands in front of you.
But how about when it comes to internal reflections? Those moments of utter silence and sometimes loneliness that shine a mirror on what lies underneath the physical? An image from which there can be no escape, no hiding, an image that belongs to you and only you.
Staring at the formlessness of the image made of memories forgotten, instances held together by Tar that refused to be unbound, the spitting image that was once in the mirror appears like a phantom dissolved inside the absolution of what feels like an entire lifetime. My true self I cannot contest with it, not, not its true form, I can accept (comprehend no more).
