Two mirrors face each other, a girl in between.
The girl is me, stuck on the cliche of the introvert; on the outside looking in.
My problem is that I've always been on the inside looking out.
Stuck so far in the depth of my being that I've never been able to see myself for who I truly am.
Afraid that if I finally saw her, eventually, I would lose her as easily as a simple magic trick.
Self analysis has always been my strength, but today I'm trying to live through a new light.
Trying to read between the lines
Whether it be pages, traffic lanes, people
The commonality being traveling: eyes, vehicles, moving on.
There again is that endless maze of mirrors
Immortalization of the things that we think will stay if we stare at them long enough.
A stern concentration on the bumbling, staggering, flickering progression of life.
I put my hand up to the surface,
Touch my cheek thinking that I'll be gone one day too.
My identity a mere illusion
It doesn't matter anymore that I have been trapped beneath the stained glass ceiling of my empathetic nature.
I hold on to my wrist tightly, close my eyes, and open them moments later to one lone mirror.
I greet my reflection, tell her welcome.
I am done orchestrating a vanishing act on myself.