And sometimes, with a rare, unconscious act of clairvoyance, you can stumble upon a reflection of youself as seen by someone else. It's usually a surprise, like watching a movie based on your life with a very unexpected cast for the lead role. (Although can you ever really be sure that in a movie based on your life the lead role would be that of yourself?) There are unexpected virtues and disavowed flaws to be found in those alien reflections.
The truth, as it usually happens, is found in neither.
But that's ok. The truth, after all, is a worthless, pale shadow of the illusion that fills this hallway you're walking through with the light just enough to plot your course through the rubble of fading dreams and discarded disguises to the door at the end. Behind this door - a desert, where you're nothing but you. Which is to say, nothing at all.
I guess what I wanted to say is that my bed is so ridiculously queen-sized these days, that I sometimes sleep on the couch, the guest and the host of no one.