Born Again. Died Again.

How many mistakes is a man allowed in a lifetime? I think I may have made one more.

Every time I look at the mirror, I see an unknown face. Eyes closed. Hands wrung. Wrinkles on its forehead. Look of dejection in the lines running down from his lips to his chin.

“Is that me?”, I ask myself but I never get an answer. I ask again. But every time it becomes a more worried face which is trying to turn away from me but can’t. The face doesn’t open its eyes like it is trying to hide something. A feeling of dread comes over me but all I can do is stare into the mirror and never get any answers. “Is that me?”, I repeat robotically.

From the balmy autumn evenings to the rained out smell of earth, it seems to have come a full circle. My hands fidget every time I open the lock on the door. My feet shake as if convulsing in a major earthquake. My mind flies high above the clouds unbounded with the complete emptiness inside it. I feel I am running. Running away. Somewhere. Anywhere. Like a horse in the meadows.

The ground beneath my feet in shifting. And I am afraid I may take more than my answerless shadow down with me.

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