Windows.

Mirrors.

Reflections.

These are the only things tying me to my reality.

I don't quite remember how I got here. The memory is like sand that sifts through my fingertips. Within my reach but beyond my grasp.

All I know is I have a dull ache in my head which might account for some of the amnesia.

If I'm being quite honest the "how I got here" isn't the only thing missing from my mind. I don't quite remember who I am or where I came from. But I know it's not here.

Here is off.

Here is wrong.

It's colder, a little bit darker, a little bit duller, and a whole lot emptier.

Here I am alone.

Sure, there are trees, houses, streets and everything else you'd expect. But there is no other soul in sight.

And I should know.

I've looked.

Looked for hours. Or maybe days? Years? Or has it only been minutes? I have no sense of time here.

Empty.

Empty but not quite.

Because I have found one peculiarity.

Windows.

Mirrors.

Reflections.

When I look into these things I see the world as it should be.

It's warmer, lighter, a little bit clearer and a whole lot less empty.

There, in that world is where I should be. It's where I belong. But I don't know how to get back. I've pounded on the glass, screamed through the window, but no one hears. I can only see my world indirectly never without something between us.

I must have fallen through a crack, Slipped between the two realities. And now I am stuck. And all I can do is watch! All I can do is watch.

My world, my home is right there!

Like sand sifting through my fingers

Within my reach

But always beyond by grasp.

Two situations, one put it reverse,

I’m trying to figure out which is worse.

What is or wasn’t?

Does or doesn’t?

Is it ripe or just not quite rotten?

But the hardest challenge is not which is worse,

it’s finding which one came first.

For what is the product of the reverse reversed?

What about the cursed uncursed?

Maybe this doesn’t make much sense,

But you’ve got to think in the past’s present tense.

For this happened to another me...technically,

but perhaps slightly differently.

Dear Diary,

It is my second week here since I got myself into this mess. And the 6th days since I started writing about it. I am still confused as to what I should do. I can't make sense of anything around. I can't share my story with anyone one. I feel a lot of indecision. That is why I haven't left the town. Still hiding in the shacks of dead Mr. Peterson's farm. He died here over 20 years ago. It looks and feels like the city I grew up in but everything feels different. It feels like the good kind of wrong. I kind of like it here. But I am afraid that I may be doing something really bad. Also, I forgot to mention that there is another me that is here that doesn't know I exist. The one I had been stalking for past 3 days to see what I would've been like had I done the right thing. But this goes against everything I was taught. I feel like I am losing my mind again, but I also feel that I can hold it together. I don't want to go back also. Because that life was boring and sad. I was a wanted man falsely convicted of something I didn't do and no one believed me. Except the monk, the good old man. I hope he forgives me for sneaking into the room which he forbid me. That’s how I got here, but I don’t know how to get back. I don’t really want to but I feel guilty. Hope this feeling goes away. Hope I can remain sane.