Aide-Mémoire 4 - Shards Bring Luck

I'm broken. My limbs feel like the fallen pieces of glass. Broken, sharp, incomplete. Where is my love, where is my love? Reactive and dangerous, that is what I am behind our separator. Humming because I can't sing. I know the old songs word for word. Filtering out the words puts me in a position to search for them in my self, my own head. Walking tirelessly in eternal circles; tiring. My head feels empty even though it cracks. I am alone, close to my basal, fundamental self. The broken glass in a way positions me closer to full and honest transparency. No more screens between us; I am broken, dangerously visible. The frame fitted with glass; a broken medium in which I sought my own perfection in the past, and sometimes still unsuccessfully try to do now. The (im)perfection that was missing behind the mirror. Perceiving after all an appearance, hiding what lies behind it. It is broken, and therefore naked and fragile, or the other way around. No mirror, not unflawed, but shards, lying on the floor; shattered. A vision of the sky, better noted, looking through the sky. I can't find a reflection, yet there is probably something behind and possibly in front of it. It was often gray, but not to the extent it has been lately. I miss the clarity of the beginning. Blue, innocent, and well-meaning. The words fly through my empty mind. Yet, I come up short. It is a deconstruction, a search, as violent as the medium in which I lived. In its most beautiful form, it symbolizes your vitreous, light brown, radiant eyes in which my image remained unchanged. The radiation and admiration were just an addition to my image, which I solely was, and could not be. A misconception, confining, cramped, with no room for storms, destruction, and danger. I had to escape from the mirrors around me. They reflect (on) me, but do not show their own content. It feels unfair, it feels accusing. I want to lie down and feel what it is to escape from the image into which I am forced to recognize myself. I am not your perception of me. Who am I!? The mirror, the wall, the screen, broken between us, yet not necessarily breaking us. I want you closer, medium and observer. Know me as I am, beyond the labyrinth of reflections. It is not your fault, but the windows around me guide me, or the windows guide me around my self, limiting our experience of the genuine surroundings. Humming because I can't sing. Writing because I can't speak. Breaking, because I can not make. It is my bloodiness, my sensitivity, and fragility that nobody knows.

I am dangerous, so dangerous. No one will know me entirely unless I know myself completely. I know the reflections with their lights focussed on me better. Where are we going? Expectedly, I am to step through the frame which offered me a static certainty. An empty frame, surrounded by broken glass. Still, till now, I remain standing behind it, confirming the image that has already been created. If I walk through it, I change it. Anyway, it is a frame, inextensible, that I have to go through.

Even so, you walk away before you see me get unstuck. Nonetheless, my mind is finally at peace, because shards bring luck.

Shards Bring Luck