The Nature of Reflection
What is there to reflect
when what you seek feels as though it has been forgotten?
Not lost—
but misplaced somewhere just beyond reach.
You feel it.
A presence without image.
A knowing without language.
You turn toward it…
and it thins.
The thought disappears.
The focus loses focus.
The thread… forgets it was ever a thread.
So what is there to reflect upon
when even the mirror feels empty?
Perhaps reflection is not the act of remembering.
Perhaps it is the act of remaining.
Remaining
with the almost.
Remaining
with the outline of something that refuses to take form.
Remaining
long enough
for what is hidden
to recognize that it is safe to return.
Because what is forgotten
is not gone.
It waits
in a quieter place than thought.
And reflection—
true reflection—
is not something you force.
It is something you enter.
Gently.
Without reaching.
Without naming.
You do not go far to find it.
You go still.
And how long do you stay?
Until the feeling no longer feels like absence.
Until the vague begins to soften into presence.
Until what once slipped away
no longer needs to be held.