Shadows On The Wall

If I love my reflection, does my reflection love me. It certainly appears to. Every move I make, it does the same; every expression, a perfect representation of my own. How do I know it does not attempt its own love. Perhaps this kind of imitation must be a less than perfect representation. But even so, this would still be an attempt, an attempt to reflect something beyond its own limitation---an attempt to show the unshowable. Would my reflection consider this attempt a succesful one. could it tell the difference. should it even try. Does my reflection identify with me in the same way that I identify with it. Does my reflection believe itself to be me---that I am the reflection, and it is the original. Would it even ever consider that it might be the reflection, or would it simply take itself to be the original without question. What happens when my reflection, thinking itself to be the original, realizes that it is not. Now, the reflection sees the original, as the original. It knows itself now in a way that previously was hopelessly inconceivable. It has gone beyond its own limitations---it has seen the unseeable. It has done the impossible---my reflection has loved me. I and my reflection are one.