Tempus Fugit

Tempus Fugit

I open a book of mirrors.

Sometimes I stare at myself, others my eyes are fixed on an unknown point. Each looking-glass tells a story. There are no lies, no false hope. There is only me.

I wander aimlessly through mirrors of time. Reflections of something that once was. All the while I am in a cage. Why am I in a cage? Some mirrors crack at the edges. I can see nothing beyond them.

My fingers rest on the glass. I see myself in a field. A field of golden sunflowers swaying in the wind of a late summer’s day. I’m so young, so simple. I’m holding something out. What is it? The glass is too distorted. I’m holding something out in my two outstretched hands. I can’t see it, but I know what it is. It is my innocence. I hand myself my innocence. I’m so young, so simple. I want it. I want days of laughter. I want days in fields of swaying sunflowers.

I reach out to take it. The glass shatters as my skin touches the dying reflection. It falls apart, pieces of sunflowers falling at my feet. It all cracks and shatters, and I can see the bars of my cage. The cage I built. And beyond the bars lies nothing.

A side of my cage falls open. I step out.

Summer 2011

This was my first attempt at a 'stream of consciousness' work. It was written at 2 AM in the morning.