The face in the mirror this morning was not mine, perhaps it was that of my grandparents, all I never met, having only old and faded pictures that vaguely resemble the mirror’s face.
It might be my parents, both dead before I found them only yearbook pictures and just possible a vague similarity to the face that i see in the mirror each day.
I tried to ask the mirror who it was hiding in the glass, but like most mirrors it was silent, a sad reflection of its ilk, so the old man peering out will continue to be someone that I have never met.
It is incredibly sad when all you have seen is Paris from a taxi hurtling toward the center of the city, because you are late for a meeting, and then your view out of the conference room window is another glass building which, if you lean your head far enough right gives you the reflection of the Eiffel Tower.
As the meeting drags on you realize you must pay attention as another taxi speeds you to the Charles DeGaulle airport Hilton for a dinner meeting and sleep before your 6 A.M. flight to Zurich, and you begin to think that Paris and New York arent all that different from the back seat of a taxi.
All too soon, I will return as a ghost and how you and others deal with that has yet to be seen, although know that ghosts are reflective, and your thoughts will determine both my presence and mood during such visits as I choose to make to you.
You may not believe in ghosts, I did not for years, but as you approach that state of post-being you realize that ghosts arrive in dreams and you are helpless to control them, so lie back, enjoy me when I visit, for I have an eternity of options too soon at my disposal.