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Description
Inlé sat in his room, notepad on one knee, book on the other. The book had been opened to reveal the poem 'Lost' by David Wagoner, which Inlé was pondering. He began to write.

'There is nowhere in this world where you truly belong, unless you are accepted by that place. 'Here' is a world unto itself, and only 'here' may you yourself exist. The world around you knows you whether or not you try to know it.

'Breathe the air around you. Listen to its whispers. Watch its beauty as it carries the world. Feel it lift your very spirit, and taste the joys it leaves behind. Perception is the key to know 'here' as it knows you.

'Birds fly, fish swim, and snakes crawl. Trees dance and sing. Know their dances so that when they grow, you still know them. Learn how they move together so you may find them the next time you wish to hear their dance.

'And when you are lost in your life, 'here' will you return, that 'here' may comfort you with its warmth and soothe you with its gentleness. Bask in the sunlight and dance in the rain, smile with the sorrows and laugh through the pain. Remember 'here' will find you and mend your heart again.'

As he wrote, the fatigue of the day washed over him, and sleep defeated his resolve and pulled him into its cool embrace.

Inlé found himself again surrounded in blackness. He had expected it this time, and waited patiently until the second Inlé faded into existence in front of him, the perfect mirror of Inlé.

"You were right," it began. "I am not you."

"So I said," Inlé replied. "My question stands: what are you?"

The second rolled slowly backward into a headstand. Now looking up at Inlé, arms crossed and perfectly vertical, it said, "I saw you today."

"Did you?" the first asked, impassive and unmoving.

The second rolled to its stomach, then pulled its feet up behind it and planted them on the top of its head. "You need to loosen up. Be more flexible. Be friendly."

"Not my style," Inlé answered. "Where did you see me?"

The second spun sideways into a bridge, with its arms still crossed at its chest. "But then, you do have a lot on your plate right now. What with having to find the Tuatha dé Danann and all."

Inlé paused for a long moment before asking emotionlessly, "How is it that you know such things?"

The second Inlé rose from its bridge without moving its arms and turned to face the first. "I told you, Inlé," he grinned. "I am you."

"You are not," Inlé said.

"Exactly. I am you, but," it laughed, "I am not you. So then, tell me: who am I?"

"Just a copy," Inlé answered. "A cheap imitation."

The second turned and began to walk away. "Copy, hmm?" it called back over its shoulder. "Perhaps. But one day I will be you. And you will be gone. Permanently. Count on it, Original."

The copy began to rapidly disassemble as it moved away, falling into a whirling mass of colored flower petals that swirled back at the original and rushed past him. In the rustle of the wind, the original heard a voice so much like his own cackle and roar, "Count on it, Inlé!"

Inlé woke, still seated with the notepad on one knee, the book on the other. He stood and stretched, checking out the window to determine the time. Noting that morning was yet hours away, Inlé returned to his seat and replaced the notepad on his lap. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out another textbook.

As he placed this new book on his knee, a small note fell out of it. Inlé opened the note to see his own flowing penmanship scratched onto the note as if he had written the note by guiding another's hand. It said boldly, See you in your dreams ...

Inlé pondered over the note for a few minutes, then rose and slid into his corner to sleep. He continued to look at the note as he began to doze.

Description
Inlé sat in his room, notepad on one knee, book on the other. The book had been opened to reveal the poem 'Lost' by David Wagoner, which Inlé was pondering. He began to write.

'There is nowhere in this world where you truly belong, unless you are accepted by that place. 'Here' is a world unto itself, and only 'here' may you yourself exist. The world around you knows you whether or not you try to know it.

'Breathe the air around you. Listen to its whispers. Watch its beauty as it carries the world. Feel it lift your very spirit, and taste the joys it leaves behind. Perception is the key to know 'here' as it knows you.

'Birds fly, fish swim, and snakes crawl. Trees dance and sing. Know their dances so that when they grow, you still know them. Learn how they move together so you may find them the next time you wish to hear their dance.

'And when you are lost in your life, 'here' will you return, that 'here' may comfort you with its warmth and soothe you with its gentleness. Bask in the sunlight and dance in the rain, smile with the sorrows and laugh through the pain. Remember 'here' will find you and mend your heart again.'

As he wrote, the fatigue of the day washed over him, and sleep defeated his resolve and pulled him into its cool embrace.

Inlé found himself again surrounded in blackness. He had expected it this time, and waited patiently until the second Inlé faded into existence in front of him, the perfect mirror of Inlé.

"You were right," it began. "I am not you."

"So I said," Inlé replied. "My question stands: what are you?"

The second rolled slowly backward into a headstand. Now looking up at Inlé, arms crossed and perfectly vertical, it said, "I saw you today."

"Did you?" the first asked, impassive and unmoving.

The second rolled to its stomach, then pulled its feet up behind it and planted them on the top of its head. "You need to loosen up. Be more flexible. Be friendly."

"Not my style," Inlé answered. "Where did you see me?"

The second spun sideways into a bridge, with its arms still crossed at its chest. "But then, you do have a lot on your plate right now. What with having to find the Tuatha dé Danann and all."

Inlé paused for a long moment before asking emotionlessly, "How is it that you know such things?"

The second Inlé rose from its bridge without moving its arms and turned to face the first. "I told you, Inlé," he grinned. "I am you."

"You are not," Inlé said.

"Exactly. I am you, but," it laughed, "I am not you. So then, tell me: who am I?"

"Just a copy," Inlé answered. "A cheap imitation."

The second turned and began to walk away. "Copy, hmm?" it called back over its shoulder. "Perhaps. But one day I will be you. And you will be gone. Permanently. Count on it, Original."

The copy began to rapidly disassemble as it moved away, falling into a whirling mass of colored flower petals that swirled back at the original and rushed past him. In the rustle of the wind, the original heard a voice so much like his own cackle and roar, "Count on it, Inlé!"

Inlé woke, still seated with the notepad on one knee, the book on the other. He stood and stretched, checking out the window to determine the time. Noting that morning was yet hours away, Inlé returned to his seat and replaced the notepad on his lap. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out another textbook.

As he placed this new book on his knee, a small note fell out of it. Inlé opened the note to see his own flowing penmanship scratched onto the note as if he had written the note by guiding another's hand. It said boldly, See you in your dreams ...

Inlé pondered over the note for a few minutes, then rose and slid into his corner to sleep. He continued to look at the note as he began to doze.