I don't think this is something unique to me, but is something everyone does conscious or no. When I look in the mirror, at myself, I never fully see myself. I don't really look at myself to see myself, there's always some goal that narrows my vision. If I check my hair, I see that region; if I wash my face, I see spots one at a time. I think its interesting that I have a hard time taking in my complete physiognomy. If I didn't have the same trouble when looking at other people's faces, I might assume it was because I only look in a mirror once a day - inexperience.
Mirrors have been a big deal with writers, I think. There's something very unusual and unearthly about them. Reflections we can deal with, because they are only ghosts, phosphorescent memories; mirrors present the hard duplicate and bring up questions of reality. How can such a thin piece of material contain such depth of environment? How thin is the depth of our environment? I don't know, man.
Finally, there was this girl in a car at a stop light. She looked in the windshield mirror, perhaps directly at me, then at herself, checking her face for some bit of error. The windshield mirror filled entirely with her field-of-wheat golden hair as she turned her attention to the driver-side mirror. Not much fits in that mirror because of its enlarging quality, so I saw dark, curt sunglasses and lips held together and strays of blown hair. This mirror did not content her and she turned back to the windshield mirror to stare through me, then caress her hair. When she looked from the driver-side mirror, she turned towards it before turning the other direction, as if preparing for a running start. The slight turn caused a blinking of light as the sun's rays touched and became attached to the track of her nose ring. If it made a sound I imagine it would be like a sword sliding across a piece of metal.
Interesting stuff.
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