Condensation fogs my quarter window
and as my other self becomes concealed
behind my cloud of warmed breath
I fabricate a tale
that I am the imagination
of my own reflection.
Amidst the fire's crackle
the wood pops
and black smoke rises coating my chimney's
inner side. I stare into its blue core
and see the elemental force burn
intense!
then die out....
Who then is real
what if I am my own reflection
a thought living inside a mind
planning out my day
while she lives her own life.
How can we really know if we exist
if we never truly know that we're awake
Are we dreaming, or are we the dream?
Think!