There's two people staring back at me,

a reflection;

a nightmare.

The difference between the one in the mirror,

the one I want to be,

is that, unlike the one in my nightmare,

she wakes up feeling thrilled and excited,

not devastated, not hopeless.

The difference

between janitor and professor

is not upon the quality of work

or the amount of dedication

nor in the genius of life;

the difference,

as my mother always used to say,

"Doesn't grow on trees".

I stare at the two versions of me,

my alternates,

and my gut drops painfully.

The lady to my right looks weary,

beaten;

there's something in her eyes akin to fire and snow;

something cold but burning.

I can't help but be scared.

The lady to my left looks confident,

happy,

and even though I know their eyes are the same.

I can't help but feel like there's a little more life,

a little more fight,

left in the one that was able to pursue her dream.

To accomplish my dream.

to acquire my dream job

would be equivalent

to obtaining fulfillment;

to reaching Nirvana.