When I see you, I believe it’s a mirror. You become a reflection of what I want to appear. Or should I say, not myself, as of now. This moment, like every moment before, I want to forget.
If only, I could see a memory. Then, I can make it real. Watch it become reality so I can change it. Or, give it a new name as if to say, ‘I own this thing too.’
There is no smoke & mirrors. Everything about this image is real. What isn’t, however, is my perception. Like, how I can look into a mirror and see myself reflected back. This is really me, except it isn’t. What I see is light refracted through the glass and my eyes making sense of it.
Science says, this is how a mirror works. And I think that’s right until I look into one. Then, I remember what Nietzsche said about staring into an abyss. A demon always glares back with my own eyes. See? No one has to teach a body how to despise itself.
It’s like the mirror reveals the worst in people. Brings out what’s hidden in darkness into light so it cannot be avoided. You ever try running away from the sun? Even a shadow can’t hide behind something when light discovers it. The same goes for the mirror. It says, I cannot hide from myself forever.
A mirror taught me about self-hate and its consequences. How you can love yourself a little less, the longer you stare into it. Find flaws you never cared about before. Secrets exposed for only you to see. It seems that light is just as blinding as the dark.
It’s like a mirror is a vacuum into another world. Maybe what I see isn’t a reflection, but my soul being pushed out into someone else. It works like love but more sinister.
Self-hate had me searching for reasons to hate myself. A mirror was my way to seek answers. Saw myself instead, as if this was the confirmation I wanted. And soon, the question of who am I became why aren’t I.
Or maybe, I’m the mirror. Broken, I can fix. Yet, will always see cracks on its surface. Funny how something as tough as glass can shatter so easy. You’re likely to cut your fingers putting its shards back together. It’s like the mirror says, ‘healing can hurt the skin as much as the wound inflicted upon it.’
A fixed mirror never works the way it did. It’s known that light refracts differently on cracked surfaces. Images become distorted as if trying to maintain its shape despite the fractures. Eventually, we look a little less human.
Then, we start acting like it. Become the monsters the mirror reveals us as. That’s why, we look for ourselves in other people. How do we call this love when no good comes from it? The heart beats and is beaten into submission. Why I’d rather see myself in a shattered mirror.
I hated my reflection so much, I punched the glass to break it. When only my knuckles bled, I realized how hate can turn into pain. And how human evolution is best seen in ways we destroy ourselves. Just look how quickly arrows and stones turned into guns and bombs. And how quickly I went from being outraged to enraged.
And how I blamed you.
I mean, you should’ve told me about mirrors. About the bad luck of breaking one. That it curses you longer than a measly seven years. That the walls become mirrors themselves when you scream at them. That an echo is nothing more than a reflection of sound. That my own voice would get tired of speaking when it’s not being listened to.
You should’ve told me about myself. About where I fit into this world. That I do fit in this world. That I’m not a puzzle piece & that it’s okay if I don’t fit correctly into the ‘right spot’. That there aren’t any right spots. That there isn’t a puzzle or a shattered mirror. That glass, no matter how small, reflects an image as its seen. That I’m tougher than glass. That a reflection doesn’t reflect a lack of soul searching. You should’ve told me something.
Or maybe, I should apologize. Say sorry for not listening when you tried to speak.