The reflection was unreal. A dream of sorts.

Watching detached fingers jab and rub the unnatural figure looking back from the mirror.

Watching detached. Was this real? Or was this simply the mind visualizing its present state?

Feeling numb…detached.

It all felt dream like yet the heartache, the pain was very much real, alive, harsh.

Perhaps the mind needed to focus on a detached image.

Reminding it to protect itself from the external pressures. Gird it from within.

Project the image necessary to deflect the real pain, the raw salt infested wound.

Build the hard shell to encase the rawness.

Project the sunshine that is expected.

Deflect the external attacks. Blind them with the light.

But for now it must Detach. Deflect. Deny.