The Reflection

For everyone sitting on the floor next to the spill.

Life has been terrifying lately. Not in a trying-skydiving way. But in the way you spill water on the floor, and sit there, numb, watching your own reflection in it.

It might be a reflection of the physical body, but all I could see were metaphysical layers of a person who is exhausted. By the world, the people, the situation, but mostly by themself. Someone who has been carrying the weight for so long that the moment it gets any lighter, it becomes hard to believe. Someone who has been dealing with things alone for so long that expecting anything from others becomes a guilt.

Someone who has forgotten what it feels like to be without fear. Someone whose free spirit is imprisoned by its own mind. How do you look at that person, at war with themselves, wielding a sword against their own bone and flesh? How do you face those eyes without pity?

Pity, because that person is distorted by reality. Because their own existence feels dreadful. Like looking into an abyss, dark, hollow and shitty.

Would you not mourn the death of your internal beauty?

But then, was the reflection not the light even in the depth of darkness?