The Mirror

She reflects more of my thoughts than I ever speak aloud.
Hung upon the emotions of many, she sways thicker and thicker in my mind, in the absence of light.

I sit by the window tonight, staring at the rain smudging the glass. Each drop feels like a memory I forgot to keep safe. I can almost hear her voice in the hush of the downpour — soft, but carrying the weight of every secret I couldn’t tell her when she was here.

Sometimes I wonder if she knew. That we were all so frustrated by our inabilities — the stubborn pride that built walls between us, the silence that grew like mold in the dark corners of our hearts. We were blinded by our greed and pursuit, revolving through life’s hassle like moths around a porch light. The same hell with different faces — all of us pretending we were fine while we burned inside.

But she — she always carried that subtle smile.
A smile mixed with tear and love, like she held the whole world’s ache in her hands and forgave it anyway.

I wish I’d said it more often.
How deeply I miss you, mother.
How your mirror reflects you in me — the way I tilt my head when I’m lost in thought, the way I fold my hands when I’m afraid, the way I love too fiercely and break too quietly.

Tonight, the mirror hangs heavy in my mind.
It shows me you — patient, strong, tired, beautiful.
It shows me me — trying so hard to be enough.
And I hope, wherever you are, you can see that I’m still learning how to carry you forward — through the same hell, through different faces, through a life that’s messy and loud but mine to hold now.

And maybe, when I smile my most subtle smile — mixed with tear and love — you’ll know I’m still yours.

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