2004-01-28 - 9:03 p.m.

Main Entry: ka·lei·do·scope

Pronunciation: k&-'lI-d&-"skOp

Function: noun

Etymology: Greek kalos beautiful + eidos form + English -scope -- more at IDYLL

1 : an instrument containing loose bits of colored material (as glass or plastic) between two flat plates and two plane mirrors so placed that changes of position of the bits of material are reflected in an endless variety of patterns

2 : something resembling a kaleidoscope: as a : a variegated changing pattern or scene b : a succession of changing phases or actions

- ka·lei·do·scop·ic /-"lI-d&-'skä-pik/ adjective

- ka·lei·do·scop·i·cal·ly /-pi-k(&-)lE/ adverb

I found it somewhat amusing today as I cleaned up the clutter of my life that's been irritating me as of late, that I came across the gift he gave me in those brief days when he adored me so.

I looked into that kaleidoscope and twirled it before my eyes watching the myriad of colors twist and spin and morph. I drifted back in time to remember the collection of kaleidoscopes my mother had...including one, which contained no pre-determined set of objects to reflect and morph but rather the onlooker would see in it anything they gazed upon changed and beautified by the mirrors.

I realized, the beauty i thought I had seen in him was indeed like that brought about by a kaleidoscope. I gazed upon him in wonder, seeing the beautiful changing colors that I perceived as him. I lingered in amazement at the depth of the hues before me and even reached out a few times that I might touch. Only in retrospect can I see that when I reached out to touch the illusion faded as it faded completely over time as well to reveal that the beauty was the product of mirrors, skillfully aligned, carefully pieced together to create a beautiful illusion before me.

I've ceased to look through the kaleidoscope at him anymore. The feelings of disgust and shame and vulgarity of what was done wash over me in honesty now, the knowledge of his deception and dishonesty lingers in my mind, but in time it too will pass.

He seemed so beautiful that even I sometimes now wish to look at him again through the glass...but there is no returning to that. The illusion is shattered, the mirrors broken and the sharp pieces of glass lay only as hazard around the ugly figure of truth.