When I look in the mirror, I see my past.

My past is a silent killer, stalking me. I cannot remember a thing, but everyone seems to remember it all. People come up to me and clamber on, “Do you remember?”

I do not.

I do not remember what you look like, I don’t remember who you are. Do you really remember this? Or are you making it up too?

I stare at myself in the mirror, I see the Devil himself. His grin stabs me, and that is when I ask.

Am I the Devil? Or a child who made mistakes?