20 Minutes

I hate walking home. From where I live to the nearest transportation hub is a twenty-minute walk. I have done that twenty-minute walk for a decade that seems endless. To the point where I don't even acknowledge myself traversing it,it's simply blocked out. Think of the hundreds upon thousand of twenty-minute blocks of nothingness wasted away subtly from my life. Walking home from high-school. Walking home from university. Walking home from another university. Walking home from a job. Walking home from another job. Walking home from another country, another world. Somebody please move the home base somewhere else. The scenery is irritating in its persistence. • But there is one thing I do notice on this trek every time, unless sorely distracted. Halfway through, one of the front entrances of the building I pass, and only one, has a mirrored rather than translucent glass door, in which throughout the years and changes, the growths, I confirm that changing reflection is me. Wild, sometimes surprising. "Is my hair really that length now? Am I really wearing a suit? I thought I had gotten rid of You." I never slow down to take a better look. I don't even know exactly which door it is. It is a reflex to look left at the reflection at the right time. How many more years do I have to look at that thing? Become a memory already!