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.
Through the Fog 