Hair, which is dead, coming from your head is glorified and held aloft to be aspired to.  There is real life all around you, and this - to you - is inconsequential.  How do I look?

Looking into the mirror focusing my eyes; "image" focusing back on me.  A candle's light flowing through the mirror's many interpretations by the mirror's observer. Interpretation shifting as the candle's light fades back into the mirror's perimeter.

The only light to be reflected in the mirror is the light from the candle.  The rest of the room is all sealed off from outside light.  You're in the death cave and you are raising the dead images from your past reflection of yourself.

The image is appearing like a slide show on your computer's screen.  The reflection of my body's image flashes across the memory of my mind from old to young.