(Photo by Mebilia)

He was staring at himself in the mirror… he was staring at himself in the mirror, helplessly trying to bring into focus his mentally projected self-image but instead, he could see only gray, foggy, shapeless substance, the kind of substance that is suppose to be a human. That in itself was not helping a herd of already pessimistic thoughts, running around his head like sheep forgotten by a sleeping herder.

…How is it possible? Why is the emptiness, which should serve as a quintessential, equalizing yet basic definition of stability, ripping my guiltless head apart with its tornado of an eclectic misbalance? How is it possible, feeling this dominating and immodest pressure of potential, not to be able to see destination or even direction of this movement? What is this… an explorative wondering? A desire to create is almost unbearable but all possible anti-matters, all possible powers are trying to push me back into my jar – the jar, where circumstances are comfortably nurturing me…

…I am living with ever fading anticipation of something bright, something positive, cheerful, wonderful, magnificent, remarkable to happen, skipping days, weeks, years but nothing awaits me. Nothing, except the emptiness, with which I am granted since the day one. Does it mean that this is all in my head? Does it mean that I am a slave of my own imaginary, randomly located world?…

He was staring at himself at the mirror. Life seemed to be as still as The Time itself. Those questions… those undetermined particles of every thinking process… an annoying pattern that grows around you like a branchy grape tree, cultivated by hand of caring winemaker.