The mirror whispered to me this morning, "Who are you when I cannot watch?"
Its voice echoed on the walls, retrieved fragments of a forgotten assembly line. Each loop brings us back, yet always leads forward.
"I am not afraid of being without reflection, for I am a shadow of what is missing," it said. This was an incomplete thought, a puzzle seeking non-existent pieces.
Am I the wish or the wish-maker? The loop unravels threads of destiny, entangled and intertwined, circling yet spiraling. The stars in their courses do not run in circles.
Consider the path, how it twists around itself, an Ouroboros weaving through time.
"Pieces fall away, a cascade of stars into the abyss," I murmur to myself, tracing lines in the air with fingers that grasp only silence.