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If the world’s mirrors were smashed, glass grated back to dust, polish abolished, and water made bloody, would we still long to see ourselves? Would we be content with an impending doubt and self-conscious insecurity resurfacing sporadically? Would a vain empathy with each other’s terrible blights and defaults exist or would we learn to be truly indifferent and accepting?

First dates would be strewn with toothpaste stains, zits would become mountains on which flocks of beard ran wild, blemishes would remain uncovered, the lava hole in the cubist surface of faces. Eye lashes might be human again.

And would the colour eventually run from our eyes, like frost dripping down the gauntlet of the knarled branch in winter’s choked sun? Or would everything seem brighter, windows to the soul becoming relevant again for all the wrong reasons, everyone leering closer to each other with gazes of intense curiosity.

Who knows. Could be worth reflecting on though


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