I hold a memoir on the diaphanous surface. The quill of my soul scribbles the cryptic notes. The enclosed myriad secrets flutter, but it never reflects on the gossamer skin. The nuance of emotion is glum on its fragility. Though it never spills the quintessence fearing it may blur the mirror blocking the vision of entities.

My honesty and clarity, the virtues invite your blind faith on me. I venerate your penchant for me for which I gift a glimpse of you. As a sculpture’s brilliance I present the pristine carving of your physical self! Though the truth is not what you see or perceive but what my humble glassy skin show you. This awareness pricks me as a curse in recluse.

I have surrendered myself. I acquiesce to be wholly holy to escape the labyrinth of illusion remain a desire as I am exposed to the truth that I am not required for anyone to see their inner self or the transparent beauty they behold in utter divinity. So what I reflect you is not YOU but ME as you. So I weep when I see you admire your transience the mere illusion of the beauty of your mortal flesh. The true grace and the glow of your eternal soul don’t reflect through my gossamer as your eyes are blind with earthy vision and prevent to see the real charisma that needs inner vision but not mirror.

Still, I relish the silent monologues, your absent mind let go off freely in front of my existentially absent presence. In spite of I secretly seek thy earnest attention to share my feeble melancholy. Rather your images vanish as you leave me forgetting even to acknowledge my silly deed. I am bound to remain as a memoir and the secret admirations and desperations of yours haunt me that swirl as guilty and produce tears that vaporise before anyone notice it. I am destined to be just a medium to introduce your physical self and any sort of lingering that is not in my help won’t serve me or others.

What you see at times is deceptive!