On a Beautiful Day
When the clouds float through the sky, do they comprehend the reality the same as me?
When I look at you in the eyes, do you comprehend me, by any chance, similar to how I feel in this moment?
How do I know, that what I know is real? Perhaps through confirmation from others who believe the same.
We converse with secret intentions to confirm our views of the reality, and sleep deeply knowing that we are still sane.
What do I see, when I look into your eyes? I do not see a personality, not a series of habits, not a day job, not a name.
I don’t see excitement, disappointment, expectations, or even memories.
The world is but a mirror, which I cannot escape wherever I look.
If I don’t present myself in front of the mirror, then what does the mirror show?
If I become a mirror, then who is it that’s standing in front of it?
If one stops believing in his reality, then what is reality?
If he frees himself from himself, then what becomes himself?
