Woke up today, stumbled, staggered, towards the bathroom. Looked into the mirror.
Mistake.
There I am. My reflection. Here is the me that won the Nobel Prize, that told off the teacher when she accused me of cheating. Here is the me that rode to school on a unicorn, that got a 100% on the biology quiz. Here is the me that always knows what to say, that has no regrets. Here is the me that never cries, is never embarrassed. Is always suave, cool, calm and collected.
Sometimes I wish the me behind the mirror would step out, walk out the front door and be me. Skip down sidewalks with my identity, wave with my hands, grin, showing teeth that would be perfectly aligned. Turn cartwheels. Become a violinist.
But would perfection taste as sweet if it weren’t really me accomplishing it? If I were to stay lingering behind, unseen, watching my reflection do everything I’ve always wanted to do?
And what would I, the real me, do? Step into the mirror where my reflection once stood? Melt into walls, a ghost?
I’ve developed a habit of waking up thinking of that mirror. Sometimes I imagine something lays on the other side. Sometimes feel like taking a hammer and smashing it.
Whatever the feeling, I get up, tumble out of the left side of the bed (always) and slog towards the bathroom. I smile at the online gaming mirror; she smiles back.
It always makes me feel, for however briefly, a little happy. That my image of perfection finds in me an equal, a being to mirror. However different, we are allies.
For now.
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