The reflection of the moon on brown tiles is better than it’s reflection on water. A clearer image, not a haze easily disturbed by sudden ripples of stones but a constant and steady painted picture. The moon has an ability to put you in a trance but I find it’s reflections more captivating. It’s not something we talk about often maybe we don’t even notice that the moon prints itself at our feet descending from the infinity it is in to a tile on the ground. Mirrors do the same thing I suppose bring you from a certain infinity to a reflection you see as you put on lipstick. It’s perfection. Every bit of it as you seem on first look. Every bit of the moon, minus the light, minus the 3 dimensionality, minus the personality. Not that the moon is a living thing but you are.
There are somethings reflections cannot show. The moon is more than it’s reflection on the tiles I see but the reflection itself is enough to leave me in awe. A white dot only wavering by sudden movements of the body, slightly diminished by the angle you view it at. Yes I repeat there are certain things reflections cannot show.
It depends where the reflection is at though.
I like reflections on car mirrors. A vague recollection of the light that makes you- you. A scattering image reformed at different times in different ways. Each bump changing it a little, each song on the radio making it a little different. Quite useless though I suppose depending upon the conventional use of reflections that is for make up and other beautiful superficialities
Maybe it’s like the way I love cracked mirrors. Are there scars on my body or are their exit wounds on the mirrors? Are there cracks in my soul or is it just the fractures in the mirror? Who knows? Who knows? Maybe it’s like the reflections we see in the sea, that is none at all because our light gets scattered into tiny particles due to the ferociousness of the waves,forming foams only. I suppose that’s how clouds look at themselves. So maybe that’s how the moon likes to look at itself from way up in the sky. On tiles and on pools of still waters. After all such beautiful things would love to see themselves wouldn’t they?
It leaves one (well it leaves me) to wonder what if the moon was so appalled by it’s lacklustre in reflections that it cries? What if the moon itself in unsatisfied? That would be the greatest tragedy of beauty yet. But anyways the moon can’t feel. But I suppose, you can.
What if the light you are is not the light you see?
What if what you see is neon lights with the I in you missing? What if all you see is a monotone laser beam completely out of target? What if depression makes your reflections vague? What if social conventions are just light bulbs of beauty and you are the moonlight in the bottle of culture. I suppose you shouldn’t be afraid to let that bottle break then.