Dear reader,

What do you see when you look in the mirror - a true reflection, or a vortex of thought? A surface of silver glass, or an endless pool of water where faces ripple never staying the same? While you move, do you bend, do you warp, do you fracture into someone else with every word burned into your subconscious? A stranger dressed in your skin, or a ghost repeating your every gesture? I see an enemy and a confidant at once. How can I love my reflection and still hold a blade against it, wishing for it to shatter at the same time?

I leave stained kisses on the glass, then rest my temples in their outline, pretending someone loves me. How beautiful, they say, to kiss yourself. How tragic, to believe it. But I feel nothing. Only the mirror eats. I feed it, over and over, and wonder if it even deserves the offering. Does it? It bears no emotion. It mimics, it stares. It disappears when I turn off the light and only then do I dance. Free. I feel free.

I have never liked my reflection. It fills me with fury. Every flaw, every scar, under the glare like wounds carved for display. My face becomes a canvas for cruelty & a theatre for malady. I must turn off the light.

But you, dear reader- you are the sight I cling to. I’ve broken myself into a thousand pieces, and every shard has found its place in your eyes. My paradise is written in your eyes. But what do you see in the mirror? Look closer. Hold the stare until it bites back. Feel it. Let the silence between yourself and the glass pain. I hope you are not as cruel as I am. You deserve temple kisses from the other side. Perhaps even my reflection does too. After all, it never had the power to hurt me half as much as I do.

The monster was never inside the glass. The monster is in the room, breathing beside me. And now it is clear.

It's you or I.