An instant passed as I looked into the mirror and all I saw before me was my shadow. But it wasn’t my shadow, it was only my memory of the shadow of my obsessive doppelgänger disrupting the view of the apparition I thought was me, but was not. The repetition of limpid colour dissolved into a fragmentary residue leaving a faded shadow, only a trace of memory of who was here Narcissus before the mirror. I turned to investigate the imprint left by the double apparition as fixed points of fun fluid, rotating and disappearing. Reappearing only to slowly and repeatedly disrupt the memory I have obsessively invested in their deliquescent existence. Who or what is fugitive in this instant? Is it me, my shadow, or the memory each of us traces as we gaze into the mirror?

MvdW