It is not me. 

It is someone else who stares back at me with the same eyes. 

They move when I move, they speak the same words that come from my mouth. 

I find myself entranced. It should be a face I know so well, and yet, it is foreign to me. Its appearance is backwards, every twitch of the eyebrow opposite from what it should be. 

What is that look on their face? Shouldn’t I know? It is my thought that gives birth to the expression—but at the same time, it is not. 

This is an experience I have daily while doing mundane tasks. But today I find myself truly magnetized to that other me. Who is she? What is she doing there? What is her purpose, other than to look back at me with either judgment or joy? 

What does she do when I don’t meet her face to face? Where does she go? 

Maybe she’s trapped in that place behind the glass…or maybe she is me, after all.