I’ve stared into this very mirror, maybe, a million times before. I could be exaggerating, but it honestly feels like it. So, a million times, and now…i want to know why; why on this million and oneth (if that’s a word) time does everything look so different?
It has to be the mirror; it has to have faded somehow. Maybe there’s a new crack, a wrinkle on this parallel, static, plane that’s altered the entire echo of the world i thought i knew down to the fairest dust particle. How is it that suddenly, everything’s changed, everything’s…different?
A million and one dollar question, apparently. We sail through life, many stumble, and others trudge valorously, but all through the softer years, we’re invincible. The idea isn’t that we’re actually indestructible, but rather that we’re embalmed in the notion of our lives being perfect. We’re perfect and beautiful, we’re everything and we’re so content with it all. When does it all change? Somewhere, somehow, things take a turn for the tougher and harsher and we’re left scrounging for the faintest spell of courage and confidence. We’re no longer brilliant beacons of beauty; we’re suddenly spoiled. We’re sullied, ruined and imperfect.
Our eyes are too large, too small, too round, and too droopy. Our smiles are too wide, our legs too long, our skin too dark…the list is endless, but the sentiment is the same; we’re too…imperfect. Outside of what we look like, we suddenly have limits. I remember a time when i had nothing to fear, i had no competition and there was never anything that could deter me or beat me in anything, from anything i wanted to accomplish. Now, we have limits. This is a foreign concept to me; this idea that i suddenly can’t do the very things i knew i could do before.
Suddenly the very mirror i stared at, admired and kissed all throughout my childhood told me that i wasn’t tall enough, large enough or good-looking enough. Suddenly the very plane changed, the same reflection changed and i want to know when exactly that happened.
I know this change couldn’t have come from within me, i know it couldn’t have originated from my own thoughts. It had to have come from this reflection, this sliver of stilted existence. It must have been sullied, tainted and corrupted somehow. Some unforeseen, unidentified entity or hand must have influenced the echo somehow.
Could it have developed a taste for “perfection”?
A culminated vision from the many faces, bodies, voices and talents it’s echoed from that very spot.
After a million other reflections, other than my own, my million and oneth taste of echoed existence is no longer the same? I’m no longer the precious prize i was once before. I should be bothered; it shouldn’t be this way. It isn’t me, it cannot be me.
So something’s changed, with this mirror. It insists i’m not perfect, that i’m not enough but i know, i know it’s shattered somehow. I know it’s faded somehow and spoiled. It’s not me; i’m perfect, i’m enough.