Refraction

Touch the mirror, break the surface tension. Watch the friction ripple off into infinity. A million reflections stretch out like a paper-doll. Your shades of gray. Your selves. Each one different, separate from the beginning. Like the rings in a recently sawed tree-stump, this is where you've been. The things you've lived through, each one written on your image.

You're as easy to steal as a car with an open window. You're an unlocked door. A safe the combination has been entered. Too easy to know. People get the full story just by looking at you. No mystery, no secret to your ticking. Nothing to unwrap.

You're disarming. You follow the rules. People can be themselves around you. Inside of minutes they feel they've known you their entire life. You have the same conversations with strangers you always have. You hear the same things. Nice words falling from their lips on familiar ears.

Yesterday I wrote down my birth-date on a form at the doctors office. Instead of 1977 I accidentally wrote 2977. Funny how something as small as a typo can make you think about so much. The weight of a date. Knowing at some point that day will exist. It's out there and you'll never see it. In the span of seconds you think about where you've been, where you're going. Time. The arbitrary nature of things like dates, plans, concepts of future.

I've fallen into the fold of my life. Putting things down on paper always helps me with perspective.