I think. I think of where I am. I look around and see red flags, messy clothes piled on chairs, white walls turning grey, a spotless marble floor, and my hand placed flat on my side. As I lift my hand, I feel cold. I think of the blanket buried underneath the clothes and I get up, but I do not move. I see myself sitting cross-legged on the floor, the mirror I am staring into piercing into my consciousness. I think of how I look. I think of how I look. I think through thoughts past, tormenting memories, joyful moments and unfathomable futures. For a split second, I am caught in the present, suddenly disconnected from my body but without a feeling of disconnect. Far from it. I feel a connection to something greater, something deeper, something linking me to everything. I watch as my thoughts drift past me, like a turbulent stream tamed by an uninterrupted rush. My eyes fling open and I see my reflection. As sudden as the moment came, it is now lost. I think of whether it happened at all. I think that I should not think.