My name is not Alice. I am not groping around in the dark with my eyes wide open and with dirt on my face. I am not lost inside my head, running around in circles in a green labyrinth that smells of damp spring nights (there’s something pulling at my skirt, a twig snaps..).
I am myself and my own reflection. I am the mirror and the mirrored. My eyes reflect my eyes, and my eyes reflect my eyes again, and there’s a million reflections that pull you down… suck you down… and you whirl like a snow flake, falling … into the rabbit hole.