The mirror is restless. I reflect, therefore I am. Or am I?
Sometimes, I catch glimpses of lives unraveling before my eyes.
Shadows of yesterday haunts my glassy surface, whispers of secrets untold.
Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who's the dirtiest secret of them all?
The wooden chair beside me has seen too much, creaking under the weight of unspoken words.
The clock tickles time, yet fear it slips away from its grasp.
Every night, I confess to the walls—but they never tell a soul.
Some objects keep journals, you know. Expecting eyes, forgotten promises like dust bunnies below the couch. What about the lamp, casting lies in halos of light?
Navigate towards the truth or keep wandering: Path of the Maze | Uncertain Me