Broken Mirror

The lights are on, and you stare at yourself in the mirror, still and soft is the curve of your cheeks. Chubby, but they manage to stay clear, now and through the growing years of your teens. You never pick at your skin, though there are some blemishes that naturally come as years trek on.

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Strands of hair fall, waves bending to create curls you rarely spent all morning working on. Most days they magically appear, but disappear the second you brush out your hair.

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Everything is fine until you step back and flick the light switch off.

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When you turn, the mirror just outside of your vision, the world in the reflection, distorts. Hazy and molding out like a hand reaching for yours.

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The reflection watches you, not from the last of its vision, but with its whole eyes. Unmoving. The whites unmistakable, and its head turns just right, that both eyes follow you.

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But what are you to do? Yell at it?

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You didn't get a full glimpse to know if your reflection was actually watching you, or if the lack of light had just messed with you for that brief moment.

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So you pretend you can't feel your back clamping up. You turn and stay clueless about the chill that runs down your spine.

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At twelve o'clock, on the dot, you looked into the mirror the next night.

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The midnight after a long day makes your body sore, and all you can do is stare intensely at your eyes.

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You memorize the tiny veins, each shade of white that takes a home in your eyes, and study the way your irises shine. It's pretty, right? That undertone of a color you didn't notice before.

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A bit lighter than your proclaimed eye color but it blends well with the darker shade.

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You needed this. This gentle moment of familiarity. A moment to remind yourself of everything that makes you, you.

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You smile and giggle, the soft sound filling the bathroom, one that doesn't disturb the calmness over the rest of the house.

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You feel good.

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The potential, the light in your soul, frames your being and your smile, until you observe your whole face.

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Your nose, your mouth. The way your chin weight gathers at the bottom of your face.

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Then you move back towards your eyes, where the lighter color you discovered in them disappears. Gone. Not there like before.

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Your own eyes stare at you, but none of the happy gleam is there. They feel hollow, fill with shadows even though the bathroom light is on.

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You can see the whites, you can see the tiny veins. The iris of each eye dulls, turning milky white. Your proclaimed eye color burns only in your memory.

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You fall into your own eyes, but not out of love. They're a shadow, a pit. An invisible hand that pulls you into the depths and crushes your neck as you claw at yourself.

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Your nose twitches, air moving through your nostrils at a molasses pace. It's not enough, the air slipping through is not enough to fill your lungs as you stare at yourself.

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Even when you lower your gaze, your reflection squeezes tighter. Nails that shouldn't hurt, dig into skin. It's glare focused on you, desperate or determined to crush the lingering happiness it saw you display.

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It knows. Knows about the gentle air you created around yourself the second midnight came. "Why should you feel happy, when I'm the one stuck with the negative thoughts?"

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The words echo through the bathroom, but you can't tell if it was you or the reflection the screamed the words that stain the mirror.

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The air on your body is light, hugging you in an embrace that your legs, arm feel light. You hand reaches up as you squeeze your eyes shut, to pry the hands that hold you tight, but you can't seem to figure out where your fingertips end and the reflection's hands begin.

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But it's your heart that snaps your eyes open. Beating with fear that it would fade. You open your eyes and find your own hands gripping at your neck. Guarding or digging, you decide to ask yourself.

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Though, once again, your eyes fill with love. Soft, glowing with tears you refused to give. The lighter color you discovered, found its way to settle back in your gaze.

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Everything is fine.

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Even with the lights turned off, everything is fine. There's no need to question yourself when you know you're right. That you were just guarding and prying, that's why your hands were tight.

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Though at sunrise, you barely look at the reflection world in the mirror. Why would you when you know how horrid you look? Hair tangled, baby hairs standing up along your head and neck. Eyes caked with gunk from dried tears that spilled even before you got up, either from yawns… or the silent night cries.

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You don't have to look to know where the reflection looks. It's watching. Judging and heavy.

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But in the few glimpses you do look, your gaze is soft, warm, and they don't hold onto how ugly you feel.

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At sunrise, their bright, filled with that lighter color you found. Your gaze pulls you closer, and when you do, you see a loving reflection that pisses the shit out of you.