I walk towards my mirror and stare at my face, every feature, and every scar. I analyze what is to be me and peer into my eyes, searching for the unknown answers that I so long for . Through the mirror I find a reflection of myself hidden deep beneath my round black pupils. A sense of familiarity but yet a foreign aura emits out of this image within these eyes; within me. And as I move closer, gazing into what people call a gateway to the soul, I catch a glimpse of what could be my truth. I frantically search deeper, harder, for even the slightest possibility to catch my inner self, this man that I see. Then I pause, for I know the sad truth of reality, and I am but an illusionist.
Sincerely, depressing.
Sincerely, depressing.
