I don’t hide behind a mirror. No, I am the twisted reflection of the mirror that others hold out to me.
“this isn’t a plane mirror” I say, but they don’t listen, as my body twists and my mind is surpassed, a distorted image of myself can be seen.
“Who is he?” I ask, but no one seems to have the answer as well. Expected I should have the answer. Maybe I had an answer when every story I read opened with, once upon a time.
I don’t have any answer right now.
Therefore I ask: I have been surviving within the limits of this twisted mirror for so long. How will I survive when I’m forced to look into a plane mirror, or a glass door where I can no longer hide from my own reflection, where I have to come face to face with the man who became a hollow version of himself the moment he is separated from the twisted image in the mirror?











