So here we are again, huh? Another morning staring into the same mirror, but somehow the reflection feels different. It's like the glass has captured moments in a loop, and sometimes I think I see shadows of myself that never quite made it back.
Do you remember that summer rain, the one that came out of nowhere? There's a hint of that dampness in this room, curling at the edges of the floors and walls like an old memory trying to seep back in.
Your reflection, it hints at stories untold, paths not taken. Are they even yours, or echoes of someone else's past? I guess in here, we're all just ghosts chasing our shadows, wondering what could've been if time hadn't stumbled over its own feet.