Mirror

I have a mirror made of glass called the Mirror. It shows me my reflection and it does so because I cannot see myself and because it cares for me.
(Albeit, I do not know whether the latter is true, but I like to believe it.)

Well, it is not as inanimate as it sounds to you. The Mirror catches my thoughts, my cravings, my fires, my beliefs, my fears, my depths, my frivolities and hold them in front of my eyes to see. And neither is it as delicate as it sounds to you, but nor is it made of hard glass. It shatters from within many times, and each time there is a crack, it catches a different reflection of a different emotion in me. Sometimes it uncovers a plethora of colours when it is in a good mood. Sometimes it reflects a string of grey shades.

I donot know what joy it gets, playing with my randomness, dazzling me with images, but it does make me fall in love with myself.

I feel not a morsel of remorse anymore. The metal taste is lost, the stench of death has evaporated. And the silence that surrounded some fragmented pieces of memory has been replaced by the silence of forgetting. I realised that I am capable of letting go.

I have been uprooted and relocated. It confuses me whether I ever had a home, whether I ever belonged anywhere. It unsettles me whether I can, ever, in my lifetime, belong, somewhere.

It is difficult to have both wings and roots at the same time. But what if you realise that you have neither? neither wings, nor roots, just an illusion of both?

Lonely

Yes. Again.

And also bored.

One day, when he will have a BMW to ride, and a sweeter, cuter, less ambitious and more fertile girlfriend with longer hair, I will realise what I have lost and how stupidly.

Till then, I am cool.