It would feel like walking into a quiet room full of mirrors, each reflecting a different path I might have taken, and then realizing that even the reflection is just another version of the same restless mind, still searching for something that never quite settles.

Yeah, mirrors are those little wiggling ghosts of what could be, flickering between what is and what might have been. Keeping that restless spark alive feels like a quiet rebellion against the ordinary, a gentle push to keep wandering even when the road seems static.