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107
The Second Face
<p><strong>T</strong>he mirror didn’t crack,</p><p>it learned.</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>I</strong>t learned the shape of my silence,</p><p>the weight of my breathing,</p><p>the way I hesitate</p><p>like something is already watching me</p><p>from the other side.</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>T</strong>hat night,</p><p>the glass held onto my reflection</p><p>a second too long.</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>J</strong>ust a second,</p><p>but enough</p><p>for something else</p><p>to notice me.</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>N</strong>ow it doesn’t follow right.</p><p>It blinks when I don’t.</p><p>Tilts its head</p><p>like it’s studying</p><p>how to wear my skin.</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>T</strong>here’s fog on the surface,</p><p>but I never breathed on it.</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>S</strong>till,</p><p>it writes in slow, trembling streaks,</p><p>as if fingers press from inside:</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>W</strong>ho are you…</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>W</strong>hen no one is looking?</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>I </strong>tried to walk away.</p><p>The room let me.</p><p>The mirror didn’t.</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>I </strong>feel it behind me now,</p><p>not glass,</p><p>not reflection,</p><p>but something learning the rhythm</p><p>of being real.</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>A</strong>nd every night,</p><p>it gets closer</p><p>to stepping out…</p><p><br/></p><p><strong>W</strong>hile I fade</p><p>further in.</p>
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109
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