The bird looked in the mirror. He was one of the smarter birds in the place, with wonderful plumage and a majestic song, but he still didn’t know that he was looking in a mirror. The bird in the glass looked like him. That much he knew. But the bird in the glass had a flaw. One feather was out of place. It was in a spot that could be easily seen but not easily reached, so there was no correcting it, not for the moment at least. The bird in the glass kept looking at the errant feather. He seemed like he hated himself for it, that the rest of his achievements, his beauty and his grace, were nothing so long as the feather stuck out at that ungainly angle, that every good thing about him evaporated the second he was aware of it, and the bird who was looking at him, the smarter bird, agreed on all counts.
@2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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