I am running down the race track of life. My legs ache, I am close to being out of breath. My mind is tired. I keep running. The only thing that I can think of is a goal, unaccomplished and unrealized but whose existence is plausible. I keep running crossing all signboards, unmindful of all milestones, lest I get distracted or dejected.
Suddenly, against my will I see a picture, a picture of myself in an earlier race. A race in which I was walking. A race in which I was lost but considered myself to be the first running in the opposite direction. A picture that acts as a mirror and a picture at the same time. A picture that shows me the possibilities of the past and that of the future at the same time.
A mirror that is best placed under my pillow. Close, yet hidden.