The mirror lies on the floor, forgotten and cracked. A bit-like skin, fragile, yet attacked. Gingerly, she approaches the mirror, not aware of the eyes on her. She doesn’t see herself, instead, she sees a distorted figure. “I am not perfect,” she tells herself, the cracks agree in chorus. She stares until the distortion feels right, until all of this feels honest. don't be a silent reader!! x
