He looks in the mirror and sees a man he does not recognize. The man in the mirror is older than the man who used to look back at him. This man’s face bears evidence of age beyond the years he knows its possessor to have lived. The man in the mirror looks back at him from the future, a time he wished for years ago and now realizes is laced with sharp objects and broken promises. Outside the view from the mirror, dreams turn into nightmares, hope shreds into gossamer fabric barely capable of concealing the regret over which it was draped, long ago, when it was part of the tapestry of time. Unkindness, gathered into balls of rusted razor wire, spin toward him from a time in the future, hurling in his direction to punish him for what he did to carry that man from then to today.

Shards of broken glass, reflecting unsuccessful efforts to rewrite the past and foretell the future, litter the room. His fist did nothing but shatter a complete image into a million pieces, every one a broken memory tinged red with blood.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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