Putting Myself Together

Daybreak and I've managed it again, putting myself together from all the parts left strewn across my sleep. I seem to fit into myself so well, a glance in the mirror confirms the features and shape look right. Some days I may get the sequence a little wrong, a trait or attribute placed out of order, noticed when I appear a trifle vague or far away, a touch eccentric. Then there are times when I cannot clear my head of dream and feel as though I'm counterfeit, a clever glaze concealing what is really there. Strip everything away and I am no bigger than an atom, too small to be noticed, much less heard. So I play my role with all the usual artistry, keep appointments, be polite, do the chores and listen. The rest is too hard to explain. I've learnt that at such times it's easier to just stay silent. Finally I go to bed exhausted wondering whether you invented me or I invented you, drifting off to be scattered again across the battlegrounds of sleep. I would like to think I am not alone but rather unaware, a precious part of something infinitely bigger, looking at itself mirrored in creation and finding how everything, including me, fits so well together.