Can you come up close to it and glance in without being afraid? Where do you go to be alone, can you? Is there a place to be alone but not lonely? How will you wait, or pause, or catch up with the time alone, in isolation, so you can see yourself in the glance of it, that the reflection looks back at you? Are you shifted in it?
The object, perceived, changes and cannot be the same as observed as in motion.
Who do you become when you are alone? How are you the same when you return? Can you know yourself as you are alone, and when you are with others do you recognize her?
Isolation is an elusive mirror.
When it shatters, what do you do with the pieces? Will they dissolve, or fall into dust, or cut deep into the flesh that seeks to be perceived?
Is this still in only one place, concrete, defined, particular? Or do you journey to the next way house, a lean-to of rough shelter and mice in the attic, seeking the next reflection down the trail? Where will you be restored, supplied, sustenanced so that you can continue on your way? Did you pack enough apples for your journey? Did they freeze in the night?
What will be left of you when you return?
Where will you find the ones who wish to recognize you? Will they be at what used to be home? Or will the new place where you find yourself be the place where family is found?
This prose poem is inspired by Metaphor dice. (Not an affiliate Link)