The Mirror

Why is it that every time I look in the mirror, I see someone different? I know it’s essentially me on the other side, but I can’t help but think that I’ve changed. What’s even stranger is that I can’t monitor this change. I can’t tell if I’ve progressed, recessed, gone up, down, left, or right, sideways, front ways, back ways, long ways, short ways high ways, low ways, good ways, or bad ways. All I know is that I’m different. When I look at my hair, I can’t help but think that it’s supposed to be like it is. If it’s messy, is it because I didn’t comb it, or is it because I just haven’t had time to fix it from working all the time and trying to make ends meet? If it’s decent, is it because I combed it well enough to hold, or am I trying too hard to give the impression that nothing’s wrong and I have no worries in my life, when during such time I couldn’t be more anxious over nothing? I consider my eyebrows. Are they up in excitement? Are they up in worry? Are they down in sadness? Are they down in determination? I DON’T KNOW! All I know is that I still have them. Sometimes, I look into my eyes, almost staring indefinitely at the green/hazel ambience that surrounds the black abyss. It’s an introverted sunburst with rays shooting from and in every direction and leading to an inner zero-point. Does this symbolize me? Am I so colorful and full of life on the outside and nothing but a starless night-hole on the inside? Sometimes I feel like it, but I know better. Stars make the night come alive; the darkness makes the light so much more beautiful. Every time I look in the mirror, I think of where I’ve been and where I’m going, but nothing matters more than where I am. The past and the future are relative to my absolute presence. All background behind me and all foresight in front of me ALL depend on the what I see in the mirror, NOW, and I’m not about to let that down.