The Universe is a Mirror Reflecting Back, Reflecting Back, Reflecting Back

It was a cold and early morning,

the morning I realised the full extent of the universe.

I saw it, glittering and flickering,

blinking softly, twinkling like a diamond,

like a star,

like a universe.

It was Spring, of course,

the end of Spring. Summer on the horizon,

Summer dripping in.

And I caught sight of the universe, glittering like a universe does

and in it I saw a man, hunched and wrinkled,

his face a crater, a ravine,

eyes cold and grey, sunken,

lips chapped,

hair thin.

He opened his mouth and a voice, cracked, poured out, filling the space,

like water into a pot,

overflowing,

curling around the universe,

a liquid voice.

It spoke and it said:

      "I am a wizard, the greatest of our age,

       the greatest of all,

       a necromancer,

       young, killed, reborn, reborn, reborn!

       And I know you and I love you

       and I've always know you and always loved you,

       and I know where you began

       and I think I know where you end."

And then he paused. He smacked his lips,

his cold grey eyes blinked up at me,

and then he continued:

      "Child, I am starting to fear your birth into sorrow."

And I'd never felt so know,

so understood,

so exposed.

And then he took my hand

and asked that I walk with him

and how could I say no?

So we walked, waded through his liquid voice,

circling the universe,

round and round.

And he asked me to speak

and how could I say no?

So I said the first thing that came to mind,

a quiet thought that appeared when I looked into him,

into his cold, grey eyes.

And I said it soft and hesitant, my voice wavered,

but I said it all the same:

      "I am no wizard, no necromancer,

       I am a nothing, a nobody,

       but soon I will grow, I will grow.

       I will grow and behold! Yes!

       Yes, I will grow and behold!

       And behold!

       And behold!"

And our circling continued

and he laughed and said:

      "Child, nobody is anybody.

       Child, once you are grown

       you will be laid to stone, to dust,

       to dust, to stone."

I told him such words reminded me of the construction work near my house,

of how it looks like a desert,

of how I don't think anybody should live there.

Should live here.

I told him that I need trees and I need air and I need mud

and not the kind you get there.

Not the kind you get here.

And he just smiled and stopped walking

and he turned to me,

his cold grey eyes filled with tears,

his smile remained

and he spoke for the final time:

      "We live here only,

       and we live here always,

       and we live here good.

       Come, look with me, child, don't fear,

       don't worry.

       My hand is in yours,

       yours in mine,

       old and young mixing together.

       An eternity between us

       between the spaces in our fingers, our palms,

       old and young merging together."

And so, his hand in mine, mine in his, he led me closer and closer

to that universe we'd circled

until we were millimetres from it

and his hand tightened in mine, and mine tightened in his

and I let him walk me inside.

Inside the blinking, twinkling universe.

For a moment all I saw was sound and light,

a horrible feeling,

a great discomfort,

great displacement,

a feeling I'll never forget.

But then it stopped. My hand was empty, the old man was gone

and I was inside the universe

and it was not what I was expecting.

It did not glitter or flicker,

blink or twinkle.

No, the universe is in fact plain and boring.

No, the universe is nothing but a spiral staircase,

it's walls are made entirely of mirrors.

It does nothing but reflect.

And it was in this moment

that all my thoughts became one,

streaming together

filling my mind,

my body.

And I smiled and my eyes filled with tears

and the thought was this:

      When I die, I have but one request,

      that you bury me where I began.

For in this staircase

in this reflection,

I know that my only want was to live a futile life,

to walk forever and then right back again.

And it was after this revelation that I was returned home

on a cold and early morning

at the end of Spring,

where the Summer drips in.

And I was half awake and half asleep,

and I half dreamt of an old wizard, tears in his cold grey eyes,

a bright light flickering, bringing him home, smiling.

And I half stared at the rising sun and the rolling clouds

seeping into my bedroom from half open curtains,

and I thought:

      We live here only,

      and we live here always,

      and we live here good.