What do you see when you look closer? Mirrors only reflect, yet they whisper tales of “what was” and “could have been.”
I once stood before a cracked glass, tracing my fingers over the imperfections. “Do you remember?” it asked, softly echoing the laughter of childhood, the tears we never shared.
Shadows flickered behind me, remnants of faces once familiar now lost to the ether of time. What do you do with identities that are like vapor, always slipping through the grasp?
Each mark on that glass, a tale. Each crack, a wound. “It’s complicated,” I murmured, yet I answered only to myself.
“You must be brave,” whispered the fragments of my youth. Faces from playdates, and mischief chased by shadows. “But who do you become when you grow up?” I never had an answer, only wistful glances across the threshold of innocence.
As you navigate forward, consider this: What echoes do you hear when you peer into the depths? Perhaps it is not just noise but whispers clamoring to be heard.