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Two Worlds
I peer into the lake. I can see the moon, stars, northern lights and everything gorgeous about the night time reflecting in the softly rippling waters of the liquid. It stretches out across the waters and into the distance, where it fades into the skyline. I can see the fireflies dancing above the waters, adding streams of light to the vista. Joyously, they contribute their fairness to the splendor. The lake, painted with resplendent imagery, glistens, glows, shines beautifully, making the peace of the night even more enjoyable than it would be to those who don’t have the privilege of viewing such a glorious scene.
As I watch the lake sing its silent song to the world, another image is added. However, the added spell doesn’t add to the exquisiteness of the mirror image, but only creates a wicked sense among the serenity. The repugnant image insists on allowing its unworthiness to mingle with the gods of the sky. Disgusting.
I glare at my reflection and smack the water, splashing it to exaggerate my complexion. I could never compare to the beauty of the moon and stars, the repose of a lake in the woods or the splendor of the aurora borealis. Why do I even bother to try?
The water settles, stilling my violent reflection. I glare into the water and splash it again. The intense motions slow and stills yet again, forcing my reflection to become a part of the picture again. I pull back, removing myself from the image, but nothing rushes to fill the void left behind. The stars, clouds, northern lights and even fireflies leave a gap where my body once stood, as if a piece was missing from a puzzle.
I lean forward and fill the opening once more. I add my imperfect shape to the night time painting, and I add my tears to the lake. Just because something is flawed, doesn’t always mean it doesn’t belong.
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