The mirror reflected me perfectly. Me, alone, in its path. Unaware of the rest of the world.
There was no paper. No pen. No leaves. Nothing. It didn't reflect moments. No birth. No crisis. No work of art. It was me. Simply, me and the mirror.
And the distance between us.
Separated by a few inches. A 5'5'' figure was all the world was, at this point.
Separated by a silver lining. No clouds. No sky. No horizon. Just a vertical silver lining.
Separating this existence from the rest.
Yes, even behind this mirror was a world. A world as complex as my inner being. As your inner self. As this world. Inside us.
The skin of this mirror was all there was. A simple brown layer against a complex silver one. There were two worlds.
Here, itself. In a moment, the truth dawned on me. Of aliens and their existence. Of me and my own being. Of the world; irrelevant but now; hidden behind mirrors. Of faces, of expressions. Of nothing but what is not here. Hidden. Away. Unknown.
Unaware, of the rest and of what lies inside, there was nothing. I could learn now. I turned.
The other direction led me back. To my world.
And what was left to see.
The stones. The pen. The paper. And the clouds.
I looked at the birds. I smiled. And art.
Birth. Mid-life crisis. And a pen and a paper.
There was so much left to learn.