flaming_mirror lostgirl i unexpectedly awaken from my beautiful dream to the smell of smoke. i am in an unfamiliar place, overwhelmed with fear. chasing the cobwebs of slumber out and welcoming alertness reluctantly, i rise and walk, following the pungent aroma into the hallway and towards the next room. i sense the danger, yet i open the door, certain there must be a fire somewhere inside. instead i see an empty room, dark in the moonless night despite the open window. there is no fire here. there isn’t even a hint of smoke to be seen, yet the smell lingers. the only thing i see is an ornately framed mirror hanging haphazardly on the wall. i’m perplexed, yet i am drawn to it like a rusty nail to a magnet. as my gaze meets the reflection, the air around it begins to crackle, rippling with heat. i look in the mirror, and see my reflection as i know it for just a split second. suddenly, the image in the mirror blurs, and is no longer a likeness to me. the frame around the mirror begins to smolder. i do not recognize the person i see now. confused, yet so, so curious, i see a hand beckoning to me from within as if in invitation. to what? to where? the temptation is tremendous. i start to reach. for what? for where? and then it becomes crystal clear: i am my thoughts and my thoughts are reaching for me. i am my words and my words are reaching for me. a feather of a touch to the surface of the glass suddenly fractures the reflection into a spider web of fissures. it is not representative of danger, or even of bad luck. it is beautiful, a colorful mosaic; with each fragment of glass taking on an image of infinite possibilities. of hope. of color. of love. of joy. of what can be. of whole new worlds to create. i suddenly realize that this is my chance. as the mirror catches fire, the flames reach the ceiling, furiously brightening the room. there is no longer a sense of risk. there is no fear. there is only optimism. i smash through, grabbing onto the hand, expecting the glass to shred my flesh in the process. but it does not. and when i look back, the mirror is a smooth surface of reflective glass once more. and i realize i am through it. i’m on the other side looking out, showing my reflection to the empty room. this is me. i am myself. with my thoughts and my words. we are one. instead of reaching for it, i’m part of all of it. the hope. the color. the joy. the love. 100420 ... carabella and when i check my look i remember how it was to be a stranger to myself 211229 ... epitome of incomprehensibility This is beautiful. When I started reading it, I wondered who the author was, thinking it'd just been written. 211230 ... e_o_i So, like beautiful_buried_red_blathes, except just uncovered. 211230 what's it to you? who go blather from