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Mirrorless Reflections.

Justin Timberlake's "Mirrors" has been playing nonstop in my headphones. While I am not looking right at the other half of me, I am certainly watching the downpour in the evening. The rain goes pitter-patter, droplets joining the puddle, my reflection wavering. Without mirrors, weren't these visions how we once viewed our faces?

Or maybe there were reflective surfaces back then that I can't think of now. As I stare at the rain and let the coolness engulf me, I can't help but reach out my hand. My friend runs into the rain, but I don't. I can't let myself get drenched. I had planned on not going out at all, but my friend didn't have to do much convincing. With the promise of company, I could let go of my misery. Although the quote says otherwise.

We walked around the campus before eating hot, cheesy Maggi as it drizzled. It's not that I particularly love the noodles—maybe I do—but whenever I come around, I just have to. 

It's been a while since I walked around like this in the rain. I bought a jam bun, or whatever we call it. It was decent. I left half of it on my friend's table. When I came back after dinner, I sat down on her floor. I should have left quicker, but I have no regrets.

Her makeup was striking. It looked like the galaxy had punched her on her right eye, and flowers had kissed her left eyelid. It was a work of art. "Casual drag," I called it, but drag couldn't be casual, she replied. Either way, paired with a bold purple lipstick, it was perfection—to me, at least.

I left after two hours. But I came back. Even now, as I design a bookmark, I am in her room. This is new to me, sticking around, having company and not rejecting it for the comfort of my own space. Seeking out company somehow drives me away from misery.

When we didn't have mirrors, did our friends trace our faces and tell us what we looked like? Maybe our friends were mirrors to us. Beyond rivers and lakes, maybe that's how we saw our faces. 

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