Echoing Memories

I'm the primary thought: memory and time, anchored in the now.
I stand at the threshold, facing the duplicate: the twin of inverted air.
My pulse beats here, an undeniable drum, driving the true moment forward.
This side is the original, the source, the 'self.'

Yet this reflection breathes backwards, a perfect lie suspended in the tension of sight. It echoes my motion, its shadow belonging to a different light.
A doubled image, waiting only for my gaze to give it purpose.
It exists only as a hollow echo, the 'mirror' without a soul to sustain it.

The mirror promises a seamless join, but the mind insists on the gap.
Two vessels in the stream, separated by a single atom of self-awareness.
Symmetry shattered, and in that breakage, everything begins.