My own paradox

I'm staring at my reflection. One side lit by the bedside lamp, the other cast in shadow from my genetic hand-me-down. I look with my eye bathed in the shadow and I see the other eye in the light. I look with my eye cast in the light and all it sees is shadow where the other should be. Why am I squinting at myself?

There's a paradox at play here.

There's a paradox at play here... and it shows nothing.

In the shadows I see twisting and contorting. My reflection of shadow is misleading and foul. In the light I see a tear form. I feel it burn up my skin as it drops away.

There's a paradox at play here.

There's a paradox at play here... and it feels nothing.

My eyes are talking to me, each their own message. On the one side I hear of grey, overcast skies, on the other the stories of adventure, experience and witness.

There's a paradox at play here.

There's a paradox at play here... and it says nothing.