Am I so bound by my past, a product, that I have no means of reinvention, no chance of development.
Do I still feel as I felt when I was young, younger.
I can't remember the years passing, they seem like shadows sown too the soles of my feet.
I look into the mirror and see a new face everyday.
I move my hand towards the glass to touch a face that I can not recognize; it plunges into it's liquid silver, devouring me in it's depths.
I disappear.
Without a trace.
Infinitely gone
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