Once, I gazed at Lady Justice, and I thought to myself, I wanted to pursue her.

She is an art, a masterpiece, even. I was fascinated by her. So I dwelt into her. I breathed her in and bathed with her words, and gave up everything for her.

But why?

She, like the universe, balances life and love. She holds millions of stories within, cases I ought to learn from. She holds a sword that reflects light for everybody. She lives her own life, creates her way, sleeps in her skin.

Ludwig van Beethoven said, we must not only practice our art, but we must also force our entry into its secrets. So I drove my way into her deepest thoughts. I tried my best to take a glance into her eyes.

As I was trying to grasp her courage and complexity, I saw a familiar face reflected on the mirror-like sword she holds. The face imitates me. It duplicates me. It is me.

I looked at her, seeking a reason.

I can see it, I can feel it, and I swear I can hear her whisper, “You, too, are brave. Ora et Labora.”

I am no expert in life, much more in law. Yet, Justice herself thought of me as her equal, and she believed in me.

But why?

I still can’t find the answer.

I should better go back to my reading assignments.