I'm pretty sure I saw a glimpse of myself in a mirror the other day. I was staring into a storefront window near the train station. I didn't recognize myself at first, because I had on trendy clothes and my hair was perfect. But as soon as I stepped back, I knew it was me. It could have been just anybody. I think I've been drawing this conclusion for the last few weeks. I've tried to ignore it, but I can't. I think this is who I am.
I don't know what to say about who I was these past few months. I was a hermit with greasy hair and long, dirty fingernails. I would spend my time in my room, burning inside, out of touch with reality. Then life told me in no uncertain terms to let go and fly.
It's a rather standard ending. The main character accepts the situation and gets a happy ending. But it's just a fairy tale. Like most stories, there's always a deeper meaning.
You're not alone. Most people don't recognize the ugly, repressed, awkward, strange person they see in the mirror.
The deeper meaning is that there is no meaning.