Magic. Mirrors

Black is the color of mystery and that which is not yet known, which may or may not be the same thing. You can’t really ever tell, you know, for that is how the magic happens, in the moments where you have not been told that it is magic. As soon as you tell… well, you begin to believe in trickery, not something majestic, like magic. What a tragedy, to believe in illusions at all, and what a heinous tragedy, to replace magic with illusions, as if mirrors were equal to the light which they refracted. There are many flaws in mirrors. I think we only see the flaws, however, only the flaws; these flaws sit there all judgmental, asking us what we’re going to do about them, asking us what others must think when they inevitably notice them. And we also can’t blame the mirrors for simply being honest, if they are good mirrors, solid, with integrity. 

It would be a tough gig, that, to be a mirror. You only get the extreme people who spend time with you. It would be tough to feel appreciated, to feel the warm little glow of providing some sort of boon to the world. Your companions would be the negatively self-obsessed, compulsively trying to reshape their figure into some sort of external, societal ideal, and this group would never, ever, ever be satisfied with what you showed them. On the other hand, you could have the positively self-obsessed, who do nothing other than admire themselves and all their embellishments and adorned beauty, and while they would be overly appreciative of your flattery, you would feel that odd distance that happens in a conversation when you know the other party could, quite frankly, not care less about who you are or what you care about or anything that is not directly connected to themselves. The best company, the humble ones, won’t pay you much attention at all, apart from a quick glance from time to time, as is necessary. Sometimes you get to surprise people and show them themselves; people sometimes forget what they look like, and the gradual glimpses of themselves that they are afforded each day are no match for that moment when they peer into their own eyes in a two-second stranger. 


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