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I looked in the mirror yesterday afternoon, and I realized that I had no idea who that person in the glass was. I didn't recognize the reflection there, didn't know the eyes or the nose or the chin. It's not the face I see when I close my eyes and remember the things that I've said, or imagine those I have yet to do. I had to stop the room from spinning and then look again in the mirror and I saw myself there. It was like those pictures you see, where its a rabbit, and then you change your point of view and its a duck. Or the old woman and the young woman. You can't see both at the same time, but once you've seen one, you can't ever remember how not to see it. This face that I've got. That's not me. The ring through one nostril doesn't define who I am. Nor the oddly shifting pixels of the colors in my eyes. The bone structure doesn't map my soul, and the way I tweeze my eyebrows is not where I stop or start. It's not even made up of the sum of the parts.

This face doesn't have anything to do with who I am.

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