What the Mirror Knows

The mirror knows things

I never say out loud.

It sees me

before the smile,

before the practiced answers,

before I remember

who I’m supposed to be today.

It sees the tired.

The kind sleep

doesn’t fix.

The kind that settles

behind the eyes

after carrying too much

for too long.

Some mornings

I barely recognize

the person staring back.

Not because they’ve changed—

because I have.

Piece by piece.

By heartbreak.

By regret.

By all the things

I survived

that never completely left.

And still—

the mirror keeps showing up.

Never judging.

Never looking away.

Just reflecting the truth

whether I’m ready for it

or not.

The cracks.

The strength.

The damage.

The healing.

All of it.

And maybe

that’s why I keep looking.

Not to find perfection.

Not to find

the person I used to be.

But to remind myself

that after everything—

I’m still here.

Still standing.

Still becoming someone

the mirror

hasn’t met yet.