Looking at what is yourself but not yourself; you but not you. Staring at this picture of “yourself”, you wonder if it is good enough; this image you see staring back at you. Taking one last glance, you turn away and continue your day.
Kathy Luana Bailey
I see my reflection in the mirror.
I look dirty, unwell and horrible.
Have I been neglecting myself?
I look back to my past, where my memory of my youth, as I look at the mirror at that younger time.
What I saw back then in myself was hope, innocence and optimism.
Have I been corrupted by the world or have I neglected myself for trivial pursuit?
The answer is probably both.
She searched the mirror for imprints of others, half-remembered. Whose ghastly subterfuge gifted me this shock of a mane? Whose beguiling imbued me with this look of unrelenting candor? Are there any visible traces of the lines of madness in my blood? She examined herself intently, looking for signs of it beneath the surface, wondering if those imagined ghost-relics could wind their way into her progeny.
And how unfair: her most meaningful predecessors left no trace. Or so she thought until she grimaced at the thought, and her face was wrung crooked like his; then her eyebrows popped liked hers, and her eyes glimmered like his once more in response.
Florence Farfaletti
I was taught to reflect at uni, what feels like a hundred years ago. I’ve gotten back into the habit and i feel like its helped, but im so tired. im so tired of looking back, always turning back to my mistakes. i want to look forward.
I looked into the pool. It wasn’t the clear blue of a mountain lake, or a turquoise sea. It was just a murky domestic swimming pool, green with the residue of a summertime drought.
Jade
The reflection in the mirror didn’t move when he moved. The reflection in the mirror smiled while he cried. The reflection in the mirror was a stranger strangely strangling himself. The reflection in the mirror admired Its reflection as he died…
Lee
And so it goes, each reflection scaled backwards in time and forwards beyond visible sight, each copy of myself more ironic than the last as I peer here to see behind and there, looking ahead, searching for the unseeable.
If the reflection is the same but mirrored backwards, that must mean that in this world, all things good are bad, and things bad are good. We’re an upside people.
i think its so important to people, you need have a reflection of your life, of you, of all the things you do, its important to you grow up, to you be better than you are now, its necessary
gisele
I see my reflection staring back at me, but it doesn’t look familiar. The light has seeped out of my very bones, my eyes have lost their sparkle, and my hair has grown dull. That’s what living in the underworld does to a person I guess.
Sebastian Harper
She looked into the mirror and really studied it. She made eye contact with herself and really stared. Who is this person? Who has these eyes? Who’s chin and nose were this? It was a startling revelation to look at herself this hard.
Who I am is a reflection of my life’s truths. Everything I have ever experienced, every person I have ever met, has shaped me into my today. I often reflect on the possibility of who I could be and thank God, today, that I am me.
Era
a mirror makes a reflection. funnily enough i am reading this in my physics class. so when the ray falls on a mirror it bounces back into a human eye which creates an image called reflection if this isn’t correct i might be failing physics class this year lol.
suhi
Complete financial solutions under one roof
monal
she is a ghost. she is a girl. she stares, empty, trembling fingers and milky lips. I look at her and try remember what it was like to fly. I’ve been dead so long and it’s fading fast.
ae
Has it all been good?
What do you think?
Would you do all that, all over again?
I don’t know how else this would have went
I don’t know who I could have been
I don’t know what I’ve wronged
But in that reflection
I know
I’m me.
Lynn
The coffee is ready and a window closes, the computer shuts itself down and on reflection the time is mine to to a little writing.
Robert Kohlhammer
It’s often tinged with the context in our lives. We don’t see the truth what people actually see in us.
jocelyn
Reflection is something our millennial generation takes for granted. These days, with technology designed to make everything as convenient as possible, and basically keep you from doing anything for yourself, the idea of sitting and doing nothing but thinking seems ancient. It’s underrated, under appreciated, undervalued. I fully believe that the lack of reflection is the source of many problems in our society. No one stops and thinks anymore. Not about themselves. Maybe about other people, but what many don’t get is that reflection is the answer to the age old question of “Who am I?” I’d go as far as to say it’s the answer to the even older question, “What is the meaning of life?” Again, just rants, reflections, you can call them.
Mariam
He snapped the rubber band, trying to get it across the room this time, hoping that it’d fly far enough so that he wouldn’t feel forced to get up and go find it again. It never did. He stood up again and pushed his hair out of his face, scanning the carpet below him.
Reflections
refracted
by light
Reflections
refracted by
time
Reflections
refracted by
reality.
Maddie
A refraction of a reflection. That’s what the half formed thought was. She sighed and put down her pen. It seemed the whole world was just a reflection of things that her mind was trying to understand, but where was the original, and what was it being reflected on?
“Mom!” Cecilia Stared at the mirror glaring at her reflection “What Cici” Cecilia’s mother replied “What is this in the mirror its me but how?” “That honey is called a reflection” Cecilia’s mother said to her.
You wonder how many of the cracks on your face are from the reflection or from the actual erosion of your features. You know you’ve been literally crumbling away for some time now; you were built from craggy earth and soft clay, after all. Now you see the flesh affected by the weathering of the winds. You are reshaped, reformed.
Your eyes hold up fairly well, though. Agates. Your mother’s pride and joy.
Belinda Roddie
She appeared wraith-like, thin and wispy. At first I thought she was behind me and I was seeing her in the glass. But there was nothing behind me. When I looked again she began to dissolve and that is when I fainted.
Looking at what is yourself but not yourself; you but not you. Staring at this picture of “yourself”, you wonder if it is good enough; this image you see staring back at you. Taking one last glance, you turn away and continue your day.
I see my reflection in the mirror.
I look dirty, unwell and horrible.
Have I been neglecting myself?
I look back to my past, where my memory of my youth, as I look at the mirror at that younger time.
What I saw back then in myself was hope, innocence and optimism.
Have I been corrupted by the world or have I neglected myself for trivial pursuit?
The answer is probably both.
She searched the mirror for imprints of others, half-remembered. Whose ghastly subterfuge gifted me this shock of a mane? Whose beguiling imbued me with this look of unrelenting candor? Are there any visible traces of the lines of madness in my blood? She examined herself intently, looking for signs of it beneath the surface, wondering if those imagined ghost-relics could wind their way into her progeny.
And how unfair: her most meaningful predecessors left no trace. Or so she thought until she grimaced at the thought, and her face was wrung crooked like his; then her eyebrows popped liked hers, and her eyes glimmered like his once more in response.
I was taught to reflect at uni, what feels like a hundred years ago. I’ve gotten back into the habit and i feel like its helped, but im so tired. im so tired of looking back, always turning back to my mistakes. i want to look forward.
I looked into the pool. It wasn’t the clear blue of a mountain lake, or a turquoise sea. It was just a murky domestic swimming pool, green with the residue of a summertime drought.
The reflection in the mirror didn’t move when he moved. The reflection in the mirror smiled while he cried. The reflection in the mirror was a stranger strangely strangling himself. The reflection in the mirror admired Its reflection as he died…
And so it goes, each reflection scaled backwards in time and forwards beyond visible sight, each copy of myself more ironic than the last as I peer here to see behind and there, looking ahead, searching for the unseeable.
If the reflection is the same but mirrored backwards, that must mean that in this world, all things good are bad, and things bad are good. We’re an upside people.
The mirror’s reflection showed a creature with dark green skin and tusks like a boar’s, it’s hair was dark and wiry.
i think its so important to people, you need have a reflection of your life, of you, of all the things you do, its important to you grow up, to you be better than you are now, its necessary
I see my reflection staring back at me, but it doesn’t look familiar. The light has seeped out of my very bones, my eyes have lost their sparkle, and my hair has grown dull. That’s what living in the underworld does to a person I guess.
She looked into the mirror and really studied it. She made eye contact with herself and really stared. Who is this person? Who has these eyes? Who’s chin and nose were this? It was a startling revelation to look at herself this hard.
Who I am is a reflection of my life’s truths. Everything I have ever experienced, every person I have ever met, has shaped me into my today. I often reflect on the possibility of who I could be and thank God, today, that I am me.
a mirror makes a reflection. funnily enough i am reading this in my physics class. so when the ray falls on a mirror it bounces back into a human eye which creates an image called reflection if this isn’t correct i might be failing physics class this year lol.
Complete financial solutions under one roof
she is a ghost. she is a girl. she stares, empty, trembling fingers and milky lips. I look at her and try remember what it was like to fly. I’ve been dead so long and it’s fading fast.
Has it all been good?
What do you think?
Would you do all that, all over again?
I don’t know how else this would have went
I don’t know who I could have been
I don’t know what I’ve wronged
But in that reflection
I know
I’m me.
The coffee is ready and a window closes, the computer shuts itself down and on reflection the time is mine to to a little writing.
It’s often tinged with the context in our lives. We don’t see the truth what people actually see in us.
Reflection is something our millennial generation takes for granted. These days, with technology designed to make everything as convenient as possible, and basically keep you from doing anything for yourself, the idea of sitting and doing nothing but thinking seems ancient. It’s underrated, under appreciated, undervalued. I fully believe that the lack of reflection is the source of many problems in our society. No one stops and thinks anymore. Not about themselves. Maybe about other people, but what many don’t get is that reflection is the answer to the age old question of “Who am I?” I’d go as far as to say it’s the answer to the even older question, “What is the meaning of life?” Again, just rants, reflections, you can call them.
He snapped the rubber band, trying to get it across the room this time, hoping that it’d fly far enough so that he wouldn’t feel forced to get up and go find it again. It never did. He stood up again and pushed his hair out of his face, scanning the carpet below him.
Reflections
refracted
by light
Reflections
refracted by
time
Reflections
refracted by
reality.
A refraction of a reflection. That’s what the half formed thought was. She sighed and put down her pen. It seemed the whole world was just a reflection of things that her mind was trying to understand, but where was the original, and what was it being reflected on?
“Mom!” Cecilia Stared at the mirror glaring at her reflection “What Cici” Cecilia’s mother replied “What is this in the mirror its me but how?” “That honey is called a reflection” Cecilia’s mother said to her.
You wonder how many of the cracks on your face are from the reflection or from the actual erosion of your features. You know you’ve been literally crumbling away for some time now; you were built from craggy earth and soft clay, after all. Now you see the flesh affected by the weathering of the winds. You are reshaped, reformed.
Your eyes hold up fairly well, though. Agates. Your mother’s pride and joy.
She appeared wraith-like, thin and wispy. At first I thought she was behind me and I was seeing her in the glass. But there was nothing behind me. When I looked again she began to dissolve and that is when I fainted.