Through The Mirror-Labyrinth
In the quiet of a forgotten town where the graffiti-wrapped silence speaks volumes, I stand before a mirror. Its reflection shows not my face, but a hallway of concave corridors and polished glass panes — the labyrinth. Each turn echoes with whispers from the edges, resonating with truths unasked and realities unmade.
“It's strange how the words came out, not from lips cracked with despair but from a voice deep within, calling. There was no escape but forward; each reflection a reminder of choices made and those avoided.”
The shadows dance around the corners, playing tricks that enhance the starkness of the moment. Pathways crisscross beneath the weight of recollection. Do I dare walk any further into this mirror maze?
“I met myself once in a different dream, a life I could have lived, a person I could have become. The roads were paved with decisions not yet broken, and I walked them, barefoot.”
In the interstices of this void, I find clarity contrived not by choices, but by non-choices, the unpicked fruit hanging heavy on vines invisible. Standstill or step forward? The answers dissolve like fog in morning light.