Am I more than just the sum of my parts?  Do I exist beyond them in some intangible way that only I understand for it is me?  Am I a fact or fiction?

More than not I choose to believe that I am, but this is of course a vain hope, rather I survive with an emphases on thriving.  It is not that I am, however, but that I must be.  Though words can be hallow and cheep we need them almost like air as we wander through life hanging labels on all that we encounter, so if you must name me call me Mirror for just like my name sake I am nothing without your inference and I can change at will with each new observer and event.  I am truth though rarely do I brandy it about, for you see I fear it as it comes into existence just as you do only more so as I know it will be my undoing.

If at the end I am still nothing, inconsequential and unknown, I will still be better for this.  For how many of us take the time to unravel ourselves, much more fun in my experience to peer behind someone else’s curtain looking for fuel or answers, but this will be my long reveal.  I will wallow in my self loathing, pity, and discontent if for no other reason than it is mine and I can, and I will strive for the much more vexing task of shedding light upon my self assured, aware, and confident side.

So here goes my attempt at being me, Mirror.

I sit before the glass a study of self-absorption as I watch myself.  I can see the fear in my eyes and smell it radiating out from me in small waves; distance, I’m going to need distance for this.  So, now I sit behind and to the right of Mirror watching her as a small smile plays on my lips.  They move almost soundlessly, “Take a breath Dear this might sting a little.”

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