I caught my reflection today and didn't recognize myself. I knew it was me because I saw the eyes widen at the same time I felt that mine did. If I could jump out of that skin right then and there I would have done it, and left it there. Part of me is still in front of that mirror right now trying to make sense of it. Of who I saw. Of who I am.

I live in this this weird place. Not physically, but literally. Or is it metaphorically? Anyway, I live in this space where half of the time I know I exist because it hurts and the other half is present. Just present. There is nothing. There is no weight, just a feeling of being present. And that's where I'd like to stay. But there is no room for nothing because nothing is occupied by something and I think that something is me.

I think my body is not my body because I don't recognize it. I have no ties to it, I don't even think it belong to me. My body feels like an overdue book that's registered to this weird library I've never been to and I want to return it. But the problem with that is that there is no address to this library and that makes me feel like there is no library. And that makes me feel like I bought this body and I don't know why I would even do that because I would probably choose to be a butterfly instead.

I think my body is missing something. And by something I think it's missing me.