The flickering movements of the flowing river reflect the light onto my face but can it reflect my soul? Or are the depths of my mind too great for any light to penetrate? Eyes are said to be windows to the soul, but what does it say about the soul if the eyes only reflect? Twin pools of quicksilver, mirrors revealing only the surface, almost beckoning to travel deeper, and see how far the rabbit hole goes. Ripples distort the image, breaking apart even as I reform, wondering when I will ever be whole. Surrounded by an ocean, but I cannot drink, drenched in water, yet I am parched. In the presence of everything, it seems I am always left with nothing. Sinking further and further towards the false light that fills my vision as my lungs ache for air. Thoughts slow, and for once, finally, they are silent.