Reflection

I love seeing myself in the mirror,
wondering if the person looking back
ever goes through the motions as I do.

Is he detached from the world?
From himself, even?
Does he cry, feel as deeply as one should?
Or does he judge, stoically, 
as my life unfolds 
before his eyes?

Perhaps this isn’t the future 
he imagined for me.
I feel his disappointment,
like the weight of a breath,
heavy and measured.

I guess he sees defeat,
if defeat could ever look this clear.
But then I wonder
what keeps him here
when he could just walk away,

watch the life of someone else,
take an interest in what they do.
And if he ever did,
would he still be me?