Have you ever stood before a mirror in a dream, only to find that the version of you staring back is... different? Not in a dramatic way, just subtly off. Like, it knows something you don't. That's the kind of conversation we need to have, but it's complicated, isn't it?
The mirror whispers secrets about paths untaken and lives unlived. You lean closer, your breath fogging the glass, and ask, "What do you see?" But the answer is always a shadow, flickering just beyond comprehension. It's less of a dialogue and more of a monologue, really—one that echoes in your mind long after you've walked away.
Sometimes, I think the dreams are fragments of larger stories—snapshots through the looking glass into parallel lives that we could have lived. You slip into different shoes in these reflections, walk down unknown corridors, and sometimes, you just stop and stare.
Echoes | Cloaked Visions