And there he is again.
The reflection smiles. I didn’t.
He watches his own hands in the reflection as they reach for a glass of awamori. He watches his own lips as they mouth the lyrics to a sad Begin song. He is performing for himself, and he is the only audience member who matters.
But the "Lover of Mirror Image" isn't in love with vanity. He is in love with potential . -ACT- -Ishigaki- Lover Of Mirror Image
Somewhere in the humidity of July Location: Ishigaki Island, Okinawa
The lover of mirror images.
I saw a couple—young, tourists, probably from Osaka—taking photos of their shadows. The girl said, "Look, we look like silhouettes." And there he is again
I don’t mean that in a narcissistic, Instagram-filter way. I mean it in the way that, when you stare long enough into the black glass of an Ishigaki night, the person staring back is a stranger wearing your face. The humidity has curled my hair like seaweed. The salt from last night’s swim at Kabira Bay still lingers on my skin.
In the mirror, I see the version of me who would have swum out too far. The version who would have touched the fire coral on purpose, just to feel something sharp. The one who falls in love with taxi drivers and then forgets their faces by morning.
There is a particular kind of loneliness that tastes sweet on an island this far south. Not the sharp sting of abandonment, but the quiet hum of reflection . He watches his own hands in the reflection
He came back. My lover. My self.
The boy said, "We look like one person."
-ACT- -Ishigaki- Lover Of Mirror Image