Whispered Sorrows
In the quiet of an evening spun with twilight threads, one turns to mirrors not just to see, but to contemplate. And here lies the paradox, the facade vital to existence is so hauntingly impermanent.
Have you ever stopped and questioned the reflections that whisper at the edge of your soul's mirror? The ones you see at the crack of dawn when the world is still cloaked in the shadows? They hold silent dialogues in a language too familiar yet too distant, echoing the heart's unspoken elegies.
Your mirror may show a smile, a stoic face, a brave mask — invisible to the world — yet within this invisible boundary, whispered sorrows dream. Can they even sleep knowing their voices ripple across time's delicate glass?