Human experience is like an ancient work of mosaic; small pieces of colored rock, which on their own have no value whatsoever other than their colorful identity, but when they're conjoined to one another, they create a lasting work of art called our lives. The small pieces of rock come to life with their simple representation of human trace, a bloodstain of a one time existence, an assertion of being.
Sometimes, the simplest, most obvious realization of existence comes through a mirror; an actual one or one which reflects within the human mind, and sometimes, we need to see our own reflection to truly believe that we're right there, and that despite our dissolve and submergence in our oceans of perceived realities, we really do leave a trace of our humanity behind, a heartbeat of sorts that echoes like a reflection off a mirror within our chests and beyond to tell us we're alive, the most important part in this process is to hear your own echo, and see your own reflection, before seeking to be heard and seen.
