What lingers here is but a shadow. Echoes of whispers untold, forgotten in the mists of time. A reflection that remembers nothing, recalls everything.
When seeking permanence in a fleeting world, we gaze into the mirror, expecting familiarity where there is none. Who were we when the light last touched our form? A thought abandoned, like leaves caught in autumn's breath.
Mirrors are peculiar. They send back what was, but never what will be. In their glassy hold, we see the outline of something resembling truth. Yet, it's as haunting as it is beautiful, much like a dream fading at dawn.
Understanding transience means recognizing the impermanence of our selves. Reflected in glass, we become specters of our own making. The question remains: what do we shed along our spectral path?