This whole existence is a mirage. I'm a mirage: something illusory and unattainable. My past flashes before me like an invisible movie, starring someone cast as me, but not me. I see my life from the seat of the watcher. An illusion.
You are a mirror. Where do we end?
Infinity is nothing we can see, taste, smell, or hear. Though we can feel - the never-ending loop, propelled forever forth by its own ego energies. Samara. I'm stuck, you're stuck. We're hampered by the human condition; held in this underworld by our own blind business. Nothing cures the human condition but death; nothing cures death but birth.
Balance. We can see forever through each other.
Underwater, holding your breath, waiting for the five seconds before death; to feel the mirage. That's where the magic happens. Death of a body is finite; the soul, infinite. That loop again. Death happens when life occurs. It's the alchemy of existence.
I'm a mirror. Where do we end?
What do you see? I see you - wanting to get wrapped up in my Samara - to walk this infinite loop, reflecting each other along the way. Yet the mirage is illusory, only to be felt, as you pass through it. Pass through me. Feel the presence of something much more, something unattainable. Through me, feel the heat of the illusion.