The Mirror That Remembered Me

The Mirror That Remembered Me

The mirror changed each time I walked away,

Its surface held expressions not my own,

One night I caught a woman dressed in black,

Standing inside a room I’d never known.

She pressed her hand against the silver glass,

Her mouth moved slowly though no sound appeared,

The lights around my bedroom flickered twice,

Like something trapped inside had finally stirred.

The following day I noticed little things,

My handwriting no longer looked the same,

I found old photographs beneath my bed,

Every single face had scratched out my name.

The mirror waited silent after dark,

Until the hour every clock turned still,

Then voices filled the corners of the room,

Soft whispers crawling slowly through the chill.

I asked the woman what she wanted most,

She smiled like someone carrying a scar,

Then wrote the words “you left me here to die”

Across the glass that split from edge to bar.

A memory returned without a warning,

A staircase burning bright beneath my feet,

Smoke swallowing the air inside my lungs,

A child screaming somewhere down the street.

The mirror cracked exactly down my face,

The woman vanished deep behind the seam,

Yet every night I hear her pacing still,

Like someone trapped between a life and dream.

Now every mirror shows me something wrong,

Another version staring back through pain,

And every time I look away too fast,

I hear her whisper softly through my name.