Have you ever looked into the mirror and looked within your reflection? Eyes, mouth, hair, just their overall appearance, with no reason? Not to assess your image and how it looks to other people, but how it looks to you with no bias to strain the fact of what is in front of you?

I looked at my reflection. I was wearing a short black dress purely on whim and a little lipstick and then found myself looking at my reflection staring back at me. At first I felt nothing, perhaps just shrugging it off because it was my reflection. As I continued to look though I began to see something other than the reflection. I saw myself.

I looked into my own eyes as they looked into mine. At first it was like staring into an abyss filled with nothing but an endless darkness. A darkness that showed me absolutely nothing and yet everything about myself at the same time. My sadness, my loneliness and cruelty all in my eyes, yet something that was the peak of innocence and caring was there as well. All of it was hidden in the abyss, behind the glass mirrors that are my eyes. I could see my old longings, confusion, all the things that I though I no longer knew how to feel. It was all hidden beneath the glass.

I saw the cover of these things, the shield. I couldn't go past it and open these things to myself anymore. It was like an already healed wound that refused to budge when you try to agrivate it because the skin had already woven itself, the only way the break through would be to take something and reopen a new wound. Wouldn't that distract you from what you are trying to find though? So simply knowing that they were there would have to be enough. Looking at the surface of my mirrored eyes I understood why others would often look away from mine. Nothing showed, not the slightest twinge of emotion, or anything else that might potentially define me as human like everyone else. Nothing to show who I was inside and what I might do. To be honest, I didn't care if they ever would.

Perhaps, when I was younger I felt such a great need for these shield around my eyes. Perhaps not so much for them but for my soul as well. Something to block out whatever I may have been taking in. I remember feeling things so strongly for other people. Nothing that would ever be considered negative, though that is what I recieved in payment for my feelings. Such things don't matter anymore. It does make a pleasant memory however.

I continued to look at my reflection, my skin and my lips. Tracing over them with my fingers. There was nothing unpleasant about them, they were beautiful in their own way. Inperfection was not a matter to be concerned over. Whether anyone else may have or not thought, or even if I may have thought differently it did not matter. I was who I was. I didn't dislike it, I was who I am, and there was nothing wrong or right about it. It didn't matter as long as it was.

Have you ever tried to look at others in a similar way? Sometimes I am more analytical than others and logic will precede my emotions, therefore looking at their basic appearence I find nothing wrong with the way humans are made. Is this good or bad? Does it matter? No. What is an interesting find is how you run into those who want to change themselves in some way or another. What purpose does it serve other than to hide yourself further? Some people aren't good at hiding or not feeling emotions I guess.

They take everything at face value and fail to see what is really there, since to them it may be marred by inperfection. I think it scares them, but I don't really know. I can only see what they show me in their little worlds. The only thing I do know is that they are as much of a prisoner of these worlds as I am of mine. Things are simpler when one is alone, but it seems to be human nature to invite someone else. Let something else mess with the waters of your own world and then leave you alone once again to seek another world with something a little different to suit their mood and whims. You then go and do the same thing. Sometimes in grief, sometimes in complete happiness, but you still do it. It's when you stop that things become interesting. Or is that a bias point of view? I don't know.

When there is nothing there is also something. A constant movement that spures you to exist in this world that you live in. But when that world stops, do you stop with it? Can you? There may not be a choice but to do so. It's a lot like looking in the mirror, you change what you see all you like, but does it make it any less than what it was?

I looked away from the mirror and sat down. Fate can run it's course around me as it wills and I will change it according to my own whim should I feel the need, if such a thing is reality. Just like what is around me I will always be changing, and I will always be the same.