What it all is I cannot say. Maybe the sky is not blue but a mere shade of fuschia. My hands, they are the ones that allow me to create whatever finality comes to mind. Last time I noticed something vague hanging out the window. Looked to be a withered face; possibly an older gentleman.
What do you see when you stare into your own reflection? Is it negative? Is it positive? Does it compliment your personality and fame? It should.