I wonder how the dark makes mirrors of windows.
It's sad.
That when i look out, past my existence, into the darkness, all i see is a reflection of myself.
Why do the nights not allow us to see others?
Where does the dark hide goodwill and love, that it so fiercely doesn't let us find them?
And i wonder about windows and mirrors.
for is glass ever so transparent that all you will ever see is through?
Or can transparency be tainted by transient plays of light and dark and sun and moon and stars. By ourselves and our perceptions that we limit with the games of lights and shadows that our minds play.
and i think that if darkness makes mirrors of windows, empathy makes way for clarity and understanding.
For i was staring at my reflection in the night dressed window when my light went out.
within was now as dark as it was out.
And in the darkness i was able to see what i couldn't in the light.
the fickleness of glass, and the lies that mirrors tell us.
To make us think that we are alone in a darkness when we venture to look out.
To blind us of everything by reflecting only our selves.
inevitably its the imbalances; of light and dark, of inside and outside, of myself and others, that blind us.