The world is a giant mirror, reflective surfaces overwhelm me. Walking down the street I see another one of them, an imposter, someone trying to tell me who to be or how to act. They find me through the windows of a car, the puddles in the street, and every gaze from people I try not to acknowledge. I run into a store, a little one on the corner. I'm fine, I'm safe. They can't find me here... right? I look up and see them on the four doors of the freezers staring back at me. Each head, each pair of eyes, each nose, each pair of lips, each pair of ears, each wrinkle, each crease, each scar across my forehead, all the same. I scream. It's all mine. No, not mine, it can't be mine if I don't know who I am. I'm not. I'm a figment of the imagination. I walk the streets without a face because I have none left to call my own. The world is a giant mirror, reflective surfaces mock me.
Created: Jul 31, 2010Document Media