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The Mirror

Dying is not at all like falling asleep; the point of transition is so much more defined, discernible. It’s as if your spirit were balanced on a fulcrum, and one slight shift to the side  slowly  lowers you into death. But then it is also like a mirror. Stand in your bathroom now, and look into your own eyes, and let your hands meet against the glass. If your life were slipping away, you would feel yourself fall into the mirror, into your body on the other side. There would be a brief pain, or something akin to pain, when you passed through the glass, as if you were a tooth loosened and removed from a child’s mouth. But you will have not been removed from yourself. You will have divided, as the cells of your body did and will continue to do for a time after your heart has hushed its beating. And when you looked back upon your living self, and placed your fingertips against the glass, you would feel both hands, see through both pairs of eyes, in the same instant. You would be two, and both of you would be one.

But it is also not like that at all.

It is like being stretched, expanded, pulled in a thousand directions, and  at once being compressed by a weight unlike any you have ever felt.

It is like falling upward through the coldest, blackest night, and then being burned by a sea of stars.

It is like being completely empty, and also completely full.

It is like crying on a cold, hard floor.

It is like loneliness. 

It is like fire.

And then it is like nothing. 

You are like nothing.

You are nothing.

You were the sparks of electricity in your brain, an eternity ago.

In this infinite moment, you are, you were, you will be, nothing.

But if I am nothing, how can I be wri–

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