Surrounded in a corridor of mirrors, I face myself. There I am at every side, scared and alone. There I am, shaking my fist, and there I am, crying. I see myself ahead, a distant image ahead. Walking on, I go to the far-off reflection, the distorted versions of me mocking my steps.
Who will I be? Who will I see? I am so far away, I know not who I am. Am I a reflection? Am I myself? Who is that ahead?
Who am I lost in this corridor of mirrors?
P.S. I have only ever been in a mirror maze once in my life. I was very young. Apparently, I left imprints of my forehead on every mirror I walked into. Afterwards, people could find their way out by following the trail of smudges I left. I was a sticky child.
Tale Told 
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I guess I’ll do both, my sticky friend.
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Both.
Both is good.
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