The impersonator

My voice cracks with the crushing weight of the question, "Are you okay?" as my younger self asks me the question from the mirror. I try hard to hear him- the screaming of the unfulfilled promises, the carcass of the broken dreams and the echoes of failure are louder than the soft words.

"Have you done the things you wanted to do?", he asks me. My heart beats the same but sounds louder in the silence. My vacant eyes, my dry throat, and my dying soul muster up the courage in every corner of my being to just barely stand.

I tell him that fate dealt a heavy blow, that I had lost at something infinite, something big, that somewhere I did not measure up, that the battle was fought and the battle was lost, that my wings have torn and I cannot fly like I used to, that the dreams have remained unfulfilled and long forgotten.

"Are you still the person you were", he asks again.

I wish I could wrap pretty words around and tell him that beneath the flesh beats the same heart, that it was battle that was lost and not the compass, that life is sometimes a battle against gods and gods can be a little stubborn. But I don't. I tell him that I have lost the colours, that my armors are down and the wounds are on display.

I look him and question myself if he is real or I am, if he is the impersonator or I am.

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