How strange I ‘ve never seen myself. Stranger that you should see me when I ‘ve not had the privilege. Of course there ‘s a mirror handy enough, but I soon forget whatever that was trying to show me. I ‘m only made aware again that I have a face when I dis-cover my mistake or when the wind gnaws at my ears and nose or when I ‘m angry – more still when angry at my anger.

—                           —                      —
How strange that you should enjoy a privilege I feel ought to be my own. Why do n’t I have first say in this matter? Ought n’t my face to be mine in the first? How is it that you can first notice what I am so rarely aware of. And yet, I ‘ve little else to go on in my dealings with you; our faces all reflect something, even when we ‘re not aware of what or where.


Join the discourse and be misunderstood, or be misunderstood

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s