When I looked into the mirror this morning, I saw someone else staring back. A stranger with eyes of history, whispering tales of days gone by and the shadows that linger in familiar corners.
There's a voice that sometimes calls, muffled and distant, as if echoing from behind the panes of glass. It speaks of paths not taken, dreams turned memories, and specters of what could have been.
Do mirrors hold memories, I wonder? Trapped reflections of fleeting moments that slip through our fingers like sand. It's in these echoes that I find a sense of chaos, a random organization of the self.
And yet, the reflection remains, a constant through the tumult. Read more about the echoes that whisper of forgotten things, or take a glimpse through another pane in Renovations.