My Friend In The Mirror

Looking back at myself in the mirror. Seeing all there is to see.

The lighting is poor. The air is cold. Shadows cast off of each other- intermingling at points- creating swaths of darkness. I am in the bathroom- looking at myself. My eyes meet glass, that is what a mirror is; right? But I don't see glass. I see a harrowing complexion staring straight back at me. Eyes seem to bulge. A cliff face of a forehead, steep and expansive, dominate my view. An enormous nose, simply an explosion of flesh on an unsymmetrical face. And the lips- quiet suffering lips- well, they form into a deceitful smile.

I move my head to the right. My reflection in the mirror does the same. I squint my eyes. My reflection does the same once more. Maybe, perhaps- we could get along. Friends- I could be friends with a reflection. But I could never be friends with myself. No. I could never accept myself. My awkward gait. My broken mind. My perpetual incongruencies with how I am supposed to act and how I actually do. But this person in the mirror. This reflection of myself that for some reason I can not quantify as being me. I could be friends with him. If only he would let me.

I stare a little longer at my friend. Gently watching. As if I see only my love for my reflection. Everything else is locked away. In my gently pulsing heart or my erratic misguided brain. What I wish not know and care not to remember about my own self is imprisoned forever- the key swallowed by the monster inside.

With a finger I reach out; Can I touch my reflection. Glass. I feel a smooth barrier preventing me from entering. Two separate words, conjoined by this illusive portal. If I can not go in, can he come out? I wait. Quiet. Silence. Nothing to say. Nothing to think. I see only an empty expression on my dearest friend. I watch. What a joke. I sigh.

But wait! As I look just a bit longer- my friends face begins to morph. The face changes and stretches. Contorts and distorts. Constantly taking new forms. And then it stops its sudden flash of inconsistency. He is staring back at me like an angel. Placid. Serene. Content. Green eyes- a small nose. A normal forehead- a gentle smile. My teeth are showing. Little droplets of liquid streak from his eye. Odd.

And then the image fades. I am left with myself in a poorly lit bathroom. In the mirror I do not see beauty, nor the beast. I only see myself. And that, that is okay. I walk over to the light switch. My finger rests upon it- trembling. My heart beats faster. Flick. The lights are off. My heart, my soul, my mind begins to rest. I walk over to where I was standing and pretend to stare at the mirror. I see what I've always seen in the mirror- nothing. What I know about myself does not come from a polished piece of glass. It comes from a place far more mysterious- that I have yet to find out.