The Last Reflection is the moment after the mirror breaks.

No answers.
No voices.
Only what remains when identity dissolves.

This track sits between memory and silence — the point where the listener realizes the reflection is no longer external, but internal.

Nothing begins here.
Nothing ends.
Something watches.
Lyrics // 
Before the names, before the wounds, before the echo in my chest,
There was only breath…
A single point of stillness waiting for me to return.
I open my eyes inside a circle I’ve walked a thousand times,
But tonight…
the circle recognizes me.
I remember X fighting shadows shaped like yesterday’s fears,
His fists full of stories he never lived,
His voice trembling like scripture misread.
Y walked softer, hiding inside half-forgotten dreams,
Holding guilt like wet sand
tight enough to hurt, loose enough to lose.
Z spoke to me in mirrors,
Each truth a blade peeling silence from bone:
“You’re not breaking,” he said,
“You’re returning.”
And somewhere between the breaths,
The child appeared
Wide eyes, dust on his face,
Holding the same question I never dared to ask.
Behind him…
the old man smiled like he’d been waiting for centuries.
Both of them breathing the same air,
the same thought,
the same me.
The walls melt into white corridors,
Places I’ve been and refused to remember.
Each door is a memory wearing another face.
Each face is a version of me
pretending to be someone else.
Ø whispers through the cracks:
“You are what you forget.”
And for the first time…
I want to remember.
We were the fragments dancing through the light,
One soul shattered just to survive the night.
Layers of illusions fall like autumn rain,
And in Ø we return
in Ø we remain.
Douida’s smoke still hangs in the sky of my mind,
Gregorio laughs in the background like a memory refusing to fade.
Malak cries in silence
Not from love…
But from knowing too soon.
The car ride repeats:
Dusty seats, broken radio, Nass El Ghiwane chanting truths
I wasn’t ready to hold.
The child breathes fear.
The old man breathes patience.
I breathe both.
Because they were never two.
They were never even one.
They were reflections of a reflection
inside a reflection
of a truth
I kept running from.
The void opens
not like darkness,
but like clarity.
No evil,
no good,
no past to defend,
no future to chase,
no sin but forgetting,
no salvation but remembering.
Ø rises like an old prayer,
like the fitrah I buried under names,
under stories,
under the need to understand.
Everything I loved,
everything I feared,
everything I blamed…
was me.
Every whisper I mistook as God’s anger
was my own wound speaking.
Every silence I mistook as God’s absence
was His embrace misunderstood.
This book was not a book.
It was a mirror
I kept avoiding.
I see the corridor of characters—
Angel with her quiet storms,
Google with his artificial calm,
Gregorio pulling strings of memory,
Y with his guilt,
X with his blades,
Z with his prophecies,
The child trembling,
The old man waiting.
I walk through them like walking through old versions of myself—
Each asking:
“Do you finally see?”
And for the first time…
I do.
Time dissolves like salt in warm water.
Space folds like paper around my breath.
The sea becomes my pulse.
The wind becomes my mind.
The silence becomes my truth.
The truth becomes my name.
There is no chapter now.
No story.
No lesson.
Only remembrance.
I was never meant to understand life
I was meant to witness it.
I was never meant to escape myself
I was meant to return to Ø.


The Last Reflection

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The Last Reflection

Tarik Msaouak

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Pamela Phillips

Pamela Phillips

Pamela Phillips

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