Mirror

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I stare, he stares back, moves when I move. But he is not me. He is only a perversion of myself, because I am me, as far as I am concerned. However, he leaves when I leave, also if I gaze long enough I become petrified, and so does he. I want to look through him, into his being, what secrets is he holding from me that I don't know about.

Submitted: June 21, 2019

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Submitted: June 21, 2019

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I stare, he stares back, moves when I move. But he is not me. He is only a perversion of myself, because I am me, as far as I am concerned. However, he leaves when I leave, also if I gaze long enough I become petrified, and so does he. I want to look through him, into his being, what secrets is he holding from me that I don't know about. Surely, he must hold secrets, otherwise, why would he also be petrified by our intense eye-contact. Perhaps if I could one day keep my focus longer than him, I would be able to look right through him and learn everything about him or perhaps if I do keep my focus for just a second longer than him, he will smite me and destroy my entire being. Who are to say.

I practice every morning and evening, it is then that I realize my reflection is never quite the same, only in the morning and evening, but by the following morning, it has always changed again. It seems similar on the surface, I am, however, certain it is not the same being staring back at me when I have gone to sleep and waking up again. This is everything that matters, this is my life, one day, one chance to see through the foggy iris, it knows something that I don't. Why won't it let me see, why is it worth withholding from me, must I prove myself worthy, if so, how? Who do I ask, because this mimic game is surely getting old, but I won't tire, I know my struggles will one day prevail and figure out the mystery of the mirror.

In the meantime, however, I do, do other things. I work at the local eye clinic, not by coincidence, I do have to contain my questions within my head though, as I can't ask the clients if they ever attempted to look through their iris, deep into their being; so, I will just do it for them, but often it feels like a hollow place. Their eyes are not inviting, they are not mine to gaze at, they are empty, at least most of them, especially strangers. Only a few stranges, often people I have found slightly attractive or if they had a mystifying vibe about them, and for just a split second, eyes meet, AN EXPLOSION! Almost, as if the eyes had intercourse with each other in broad daylight on the middle of the street, or in the bus, subway or another galaxy, where eyes go in the split second to exchange whatever it is. But all I get is a short glimpse of the surface of the other person's iris and a wondering feeling in my stomach, as if I should have known something about that person, or should have said something or done something. But always, we pass, never to see or meet each other, a lost connection.

Perhaps it is because the eyes know each other, they have met before, they don't need words, eyes never do, and a second is enough to communicate on their level of intelligence. If any of that was just the slightest true, I have every right to be envious of my eyes, and their eyes. However, my job never provides me with such sensations. People don't come into an eye-clinic to exchange mystified glimpsed of their beings, it is as if they leave their souls by the door, or at home, or don't invoke them in the morning. They might not be aware of their lost opportunity to penetrate their iris, or they might not want to be aware, or I might be completely and utterly mad.


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