Bubbles

Bubble mirrors in a distorted reality. Gently running my finger over their surface. Here the bubbles are flat. Could it be I? Could it be I’s eye? Captain of this sunken ship. Upside down, keeping an eye out for the right way up. No things left behind. Forward we march, towards a stronger mind. Traveling through time, we swing. Back, back, back, and forward, forward farther than ever forwarded before. Floating, like weightless bubbles, out of reach… by just a touch. Touching mirrors reflecting our distorted reality. Or distorting our reflected reality. I reflect.