It’s like a pathetic attempt at being a vigilante. Trying to save the world with your hands clamped together with ropes and chains and your eyes are blind folded with a blood stained handkerchief.

It’s looking through the mirror on the wrong side because then you end up foolishly looking at nothing, not even a reflection. All traces of who you are disappeared because you were just on the wrong side. Simple as that. You were just on the wrong side. All the shapes and abstractions of what you are hoping to see becomes hopes for something better. Like a promise. A promise that wouldn’t come true even if you tried. But the impossible seems too alluring… too seducing …too perfect …so you have to try. It is what makes you who you are. It is the ambition to trap perfection in a bottle and showcase it in your collection that you can’t get enough of; it is that thought that motivates you. So you do whatever it takes to find the answers. Because there is hope. There is always hope. The mirror told you so.

You spend money and time, essentials of modern day life, in searching for the impossible, the answer to all of your problems, the hope that there is something better than what you’ve been living for, that purpose to life; what is it? Over and over again you do whatever it takes to feel that adrenaline that rushes throughout your body in ecstasy. It doesn’t matter if it lasts for as long as someone to sigh, as long as you had one glimpse of it, one taste, you’re satisfied. So you go on your next excursion to find that temporary high that lasts for a moment. It doesn’t matter if it is wrong. It doesn’t matter if it is illegal or immoral; it causes every nerve to heighten and every emotion becomes intense like the sunrise dances off of the northern lights. Everything feels so surreal. It’s ecstasy in its quintessential form. Pleasure as priceless and inexplicable has its price, time. It doesn’t long. So you’re chasing after this little ball of impossible in everything that you do. You’re legs become from the obsession and you become beautiful with wisdom and age and everything that you were chasing all comes to an abrupt stop.

Stop. Breathe. Take it in. Let in consume you. This is when you realize there wasn’t anything on the other side and those shapes were forming themselves to be you. Finally you return to that mirror and you see a face that has aged with time and pain. A face that you recognize as you’re own. All this time you have been searching because those shapes gave you hope, because those shapes were the answers to all your questions, and ironically, it lead you back to the beginning. Everything is just one ride of a merry-go-round and you find yourselves always in the same place with new scenery. That is why everything feels the same but no one notices it because it’s incognito, disguised with different faces and taller buildings. You find out that all the answers that you’ve been looking for, dying to find, obsessively clamoring for just behind the edge of that glass mirror. If you just waited, you would have seen exactly where to look, yourself.

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