Stranger.

It was, at the very least, unnerving.

Somewhere in between, it was unsettling.

So very clearly, rattling.

But why?

Projection? Tis’ a false mirror. The image did not reflect accurately.

This one in particular, is not my own, but pinned upon me. Super-imposed to try and reflect the truth of someone else.

I was left, a pile of fragments. All of the bits and pieces of me spinning recklessly, through the air. Unglued. Unhinged.

How did I permit myself to be sent away, compelled to repair myself by foolishly attempting to unpack the contents of luggage of a stranger, in the hopes of finding my blueprints, in said suitcase, with a key belonging to another lock, on another suitcase, from the stranger before?

Perhaps, because I have lost my key? Perhaps because I no longer recognize the difference in colors and shapes and sizes of the connections I once thought were sound and true, which would have so clearly guided me back to me, instead of you?

And now, left where I was found last, I once again, collect the items of the countless others, clearly not matching mine, back to my safe place, the door left open, left to question why this became my task, from the outset.