thoughts, words, deeds

consider the mirror

There's mirror on the dresser where I have my laptop set up. When I look up from writing, I can see myself. It feels surreal, sometimes, to see my face, when I don't remember myself looking that way. Something about memory makes my face change inside my head. I remember different lines, different angles, a mouth that is smiling, skin that is bluer, eyebrows that are less like slashes across my face. I don't remember the scar if I'm not looking at it, not when I try to picture me. And my hair is longer, or shorter--greyer or browner, but not like it is.

I live so much of my life inside my head. Part of it is the fact that I spend a lot of time reading, and in the books, all pictures are made by words. In my memory, things get left out, like words on a page, leaving edges to look through and wonder about.

I wonder how to find those gaps, sometimes. I think it must be interesting to peer through them and find the reality behind--or the unrealithy. Mirrors lie, don't they. They show the world reversed. In tarot, that would make the portents sinister. Which is another way of saying left handed.