The Face In The Mirror

To look within one's self is a most disgusting thing to do.

People try their entire lives trying to reason why they are who they are, and who they ought to be instead. All this is in vain isn't it? Perhaps a person is born a certain way, and the journey through wanting to be someone else is just a waste of time, energy and emotion.

What do you see when you reach down into the deepest parts of yourself? Is it a cold hard core in spite of your warm, hospitable exterior? Is it a conniving instigator that contrasts your kind and peace-loving appearance? Or do you see a warm red heart that pulsates with such emotion and feeling that, left unsurpressed, would implode and leave your body just as it is: a hollow shell.

We have our own impressions of ourselves. But how much do those impressions match with the ones that others have gained of us? Ever looked out a window and felt a contemplation so strong that you thought you could look out forever? A window belongs in its pane but spends most of its life opened either on the inside or out. For if it stays in its pane forever, all it would be is a glass panel that serves no other purpose than to let light pass through. Are you a window that swings towards the ways of the world or a firm and self-assertive transparent glass panel?

Looking into a mirror is a creepy thing to do. You know exactly where that pimple is, and exactly which angle from which to look and not see it. You know what colour and style your hair should be modelled in to complement the tone of your skin. But despite all these things that you know, something, somehow is oddly unfamiliar.