I take off my mask when alone and confined within a single room. There is a mirror placed on my desk so I can stare at myself and smile as I take notice of my fragmented reflection. Who am I? Which one is the real me? There’s the me my mother knows, the me my sister knows, the me professors know, the me acquaintances know, the me close friends know, the me strangers think they can know, and the me that I know. Or I think I know. It’s all pitifully nonsensical.

I’m lost.
A bit dazed, too.

But who isn’t?
It’s nothing new.

It’s just another night.