TIME lol...anyway 10 points? haha sorry for the bother...hope someone takes the time and comments and stuff...tell me likes and dislikes...sorry if it isnt good, specially the end...im kinda sleepy lol...haha any comments are welcome!! thnkx a lot 
SelfReflection: TheSlave&theMirror
“We are so pretentious as to always believe either the best or the worst, and so naive as to believe our lives are that interesting” – Eger.
I look at those eyes in the mirror, at that face staring directly at me. Still, I don’t know who that is; I don’t know how different it is from me. It seems to move when I do, but I can’t be certain. No matter how much I try, how much I submerge myself into reflection, I reach an impasse: there’s no way to know how accurate that reflected image is. That is because I don’t know myself, and I wouldn’t like to. That’s why I keep running from who I am, and I cover that mirror every time. Still, the curiosity is too great to resist, I’ll have to uncover that mirror, and I’ll need to confront the very core of my being. Maybe it is not a bad time to do so. I’ll unveil it and I’ll confront that of which I am so afraid of: myself, what defines and limits my existence.
Still, the mirror has certain impurities that are evident to the naked eye. Some parts are tarnished, discoloured; others are cracked and fractured. These are not the results of my own doing, at least, not directly. Most are the results of the interaction with the outer world, that beautiful but terrifying place where monsters lurk in shadows and a few noble creatures assist the chivalrous. Still, that outer world is not safe, and it is not a place that I can control. Maybe that is why it seems so attractive and so appealing, and yet why it inspires so much fright in my being. I have some sort of control in that little head of mine, but in the outer world I am unarmed and vulnerable, but ready to be surprised at any unseen and unexpected wonder. Anyhow, it is there where the mirror obtains its cracks and tarnishes, those impurities that I take as my own.
For the mirror to get damaged is easy. It is much harder to repair than to break, that is if repair is even possible. Several people shatter others’ mirrors expecting to feel better about them, they hope that by doing so, they will be the fairest of all, the one that stands out. The mean and ill-intentioned act of crushing someone else’s mirror can be conscious or unconscious, but always intentional. Those cracks and tarnishes formed by other’s acts affect the reflection I see in the mirror. Yet, sometimes, there are cracks and tarnishes much graver that are not the result of such evil intentions. Maybe my deepest cracks are not those formed by being tormented, but those made by being abandoned. There is only one thing more capable of deforming things than the evil spirit of man, and that is the union of time and neglect. Time and neglect can turn anything into something devoid of its individual essence, it merges the thing with nature, and it crumbles its personality to make it inert and passive. Therefore, the stains of neglect do not only shatter the glass, but cover it with moss and wild grass and make it a place for little beings to rest and live. Those neglected mirrors are beautiful forgotten things, but still, lack the characterization, valour and courage needed to live like a person. Those abandoned mirrors are not conscious of their own beings and ignore some of their own sacred believes; they lose their way, they lose their track, and they do not know if they are meant to be going up or down, or if they are even supposed to go instead of being frozen in time.
Still, all the cracks and stains are not the only ones that arise doubt over the fidelity of that reflection on the mirror. There is something else within, the knowledge that I may not be able to handle my dreams and my life. In the end, it is not the cracks and torments that make me flee, but that unbelief in myself. And, if I’m not capable of confronting that reality, I’ll never get to know that reflection, and the burden that comes with it. For there is nothing worse that the knowledge of being incapable, powerless, incompetent, and inept. No knowledge is more terrifying than that, so I wonder if it’s better not to live with it. Maybe, I am better off in that little head of mine, seeing what I want, and believing what I see. Or perhaps not.
Either way, all those cracks and tarnishes are there on my mirror: those made when being laughed at or being criticized, those marked by not being gifted with any grace or talent, those related to not really belonging in a place, those that were formed by not standing out in any way, those of not being taken into account, and those made by myself when I declared myself futile. Still, those tarnishes and imperfections are commonly overlooked, or exaggerated, for I am slave of that mirror, and must find an imposing reflection on it, even if it means being something I am not or taking anything to an extreme to draw attention to myself. Nevertheless, those cracks are unimportant in the end, for if they are an obstacle in finding my reflection, the reflection is just a mirror image of the self. The acts of searching for guidance in the mirror is self destructive, for it only reflects what I let it reflect; therefore, I should not see the cracks or the wrongs, maybe one is only meant to keep
SelfReflection: TheSlave&theMirror
“We are so pretentious as to always believe either the best or the worst, and so naive as to believe our lives are that interesting” – Eger.
I look at those eyes in the mirror, at that face staring directly at me. Still, I don’t know who that is; I don’t know how different it is from me. It seems to move when I do, but I can’t be certain. No matter how much I try, how much I submerge myself into reflection, I reach an impasse: there’s no way to know how accurate that reflected image is. That is because I don’t know myself, and I wouldn’t like to. That’s why I keep running from who I am, and I cover that mirror every time. Still, the curiosity is too great to resist, I’ll have to uncover that mirror, and I’ll need to confront the very core of my being. Maybe it is not a bad time to do so. I’ll unveil it and I’ll confront that of which I am so afraid of: myself, what defines and limits my existence.
Still, the mirror has certain impurities that are evident to the naked eye. Some parts are tarnished, discoloured; others are cracked and fractured. These are not the results of my own doing, at least, not directly. Most are the results of the interaction with the outer world, that beautiful but terrifying place where monsters lurk in shadows and a few noble creatures assist the chivalrous. Still, that outer world is not safe, and it is not a place that I can control. Maybe that is why it seems so attractive and so appealing, and yet why it inspires so much fright in my being. I have some sort of control in that little head of mine, but in the outer world I am unarmed and vulnerable, but ready to be surprised at any unseen and unexpected wonder. Anyhow, it is there where the mirror obtains its cracks and tarnishes, those impurities that I take as my own.
For the mirror to get damaged is easy. It is much harder to repair than to break, that is if repair is even possible. Several people shatter others’ mirrors expecting to feel better about them, they hope that by doing so, they will be the fairest of all, the one that stands out. The mean and ill-intentioned act of crushing someone else’s mirror can be conscious or unconscious, but always intentional. Those cracks and tarnishes formed by other’s acts affect the reflection I see in the mirror. Yet, sometimes, there are cracks and tarnishes much graver that are not the result of such evil intentions. Maybe my deepest cracks are not those formed by being tormented, but those made by being abandoned. There is only one thing more capable of deforming things than the evil spirit of man, and that is the union of time and neglect. Time and neglect can turn anything into something devoid of its individual essence, it merges the thing with nature, and it crumbles its personality to make it inert and passive. Therefore, the stains of neglect do not only shatter the glass, but cover it with moss and wild grass and make it a place for little beings to rest and live. Those neglected mirrors are beautiful forgotten things, but still, lack the characterization, valour and courage needed to live like a person. Those abandoned mirrors are not conscious of their own beings and ignore some of their own sacred believes; they lose their way, they lose their track, and they do not know if they are meant to be going up or down, or if they are even supposed to go instead of being frozen in time.
Still, all the cracks and stains are not the only ones that arise doubt over the fidelity of that reflection on the mirror. There is something else within, the knowledge that I may not be able to handle my dreams and my life. In the end, it is not the cracks and torments that make me flee, but that unbelief in myself. And, if I’m not capable of confronting that reality, I’ll never get to know that reflection, and the burden that comes with it. For there is nothing worse that the knowledge of being incapable, powerless, incompetent, and inept. No knowledge is more terrifying than that, so I wonder if it’s better not to live with it. Maybe, I am better off in that little head of mine, seeing what I want, and believing what I see. Or perhaps not.
Either way, all those cracks and tarnishes are there on my mirror: those made when being laughed at or being criticized, those marked by not being gifted with any grace or talent, those related to not really belonging in a place, those that were formed by not standing out in any way, those of not being taken into account, and those made by myself when I declared myself futile. Still, those tarnishes and imperfections are commonly overlooked, or exaggerated, for I am slave of that mirror, and must find an imposing reflection on it, even if it means being something I am not or taking anything to an extreme to draw attention to myself. Nevertheless, those cracks are unimportant in the end, for if they are an obstacle in finding my reflection, the reflection is just a mirror image of the self. The acts of searching for guidance in the mirror is self destructive, for it only reflects what I let it reflect; therefore, I should not see the cracks or the wrongs, maybe one is only meant to keep