Reflection
People often carry a story about who we are.
Over time that story becomes familiar to them, like a window they keep pointing toward, certain that if we would only look there, we would see what they see.
For a long time I tried.
But the view waiting for me was something else — beyond the careful arrangements and the shadows hung neatly on the wall.
A life cannot be lived inside someone else’s story.
Others may tell a story about me.
It is simply not the one I am living.
— a reflection by Corvalva
Return to You Don’t Know Me.
Notice what shifts.