the other side of the mirror

The breadman making his rounds. Cockroaches partaking in the feast of saints and martyrs, piping hot instant noodles and semi-cold beer. Playing make-believe, pretending to be rulers of this suspended limbo where all our loyal subjects slumber, drowsy with their little preoccupations.

3.26 a.m. Its funny how unfamiliar the familiar seems when we are on the other side of the mirror. Mundane, even banal, things seem to take on a whole new depth of meaning if you look closely enough, making associations, observations, fascinating to no end. Street lights become the eyes of a cosmic giant, or perhaps shooting stars of astronomical proportions, streaking and flaring through the darkness of space yet is still, the strange guardians of a strange land. Paradoxical, as life often is, a reflection of the familiar. Distorted.

The most innocuous stairwell could very well take on a sinister intent. There is no way, no way at all of seeing where it led, only where it didn’t lead to. Trapped, claustrophobic. Racing hearts, definitely not from excitement. A ghostly apparition, semi-solid, still, expressionless. And familiar. Banquo seeing himself. Sins of the past, captured with a delayed click, light entering, exposing for the world to see, etched into memory.

Go down the rabbit hole, it whispered and beckoned, Alice and the Queen of Hearts are waiting. What? Where? Wonderland? A Boogie Wonderland?
I did not tread down that path, knowing surely it would end in heartbreak.