Mirror, spotted with age and time. Rust begins to spread, but you see yourself just fine. Don’t close your eyes, pull away, or reach through, but can you please tell us: What is one to do, when they can no longer pretend they cannot see themselves in you?
It is so easy to ignore, to replace truths with the lies you told before. But though reflections curve and distort, you cannot resort to the sort of thing you thought was right before you saw yourself in someone else.
Mirror, spotted with age and time. Rust has seeded, unwanted, unneeded. But once it begins it is hard to weed out, and the longer you stare, the longer you doubt. If that is really you, you can see reflected there; if that’s the line of your mouth, your eyes, and your hair.
It is not what you want, to see what pains you to see. Yourself in such decay, pain where there is no need. So though you recognize yourself just fine, you begin to rationalize. There you see yourself, but yourself could be anything. You say “it’s not me, it’s the mirror I see” but that is a lie that tastes saccharine sweet.
Mirror, spotted with age and time. You reach out your hands, fingers through air, through sand, grasping at the pieces of a whole you don’t understand. Softness will overcome, engulf everyone, the rust smooths features until you can’t see the sun.
Where does my reach end? What can I do? When I cannot pretend I don’t see myself in you.