The Mirror Doesn’t Stay Still

The mirror never gives me just one version.

I stand in front of it
and wait
as if something will settle.

But it doesn’t.

Some mornings
I look softer.

Not happier,
just… quieter.

Like I could fold into the day
without being noticed.

I tilt my head,
watch the way my face changes
with the smallest movement,

how easily I can become
someone gentler
if I hold it long enough.

Other times,
I don’t recognise myself at all.

There’s something sharper there.
Like I’ve already decided something.

My shoulders lift,
my expression steadies

and suddenly I look like someone
who knows exactly what she’s doing.

Even if I don’t.

It shifts again

Always.

Then, I start to notice the details.

‍ ‍ design by alyssa dalto

The faint lines beside my mouth,
evidence of laughter
that felt endless at the time.

The slight crease between my eyebrows,
like there’s something I’ve been trying to understand
for too long.

My eyes,
tired in a way that isn’t just sleep
as if they’ve been holding onto things
I haven’t said out loud.

These things don’t disappear
when I change the angle.

They stay.

Quiet, but certain.

I catch glimpses of versions
I’ve never been
or maybe just haven’t tried yet.

Someone more confident.
More distant.
More certain.

She looks back at me
like she’s already figured everything out.

I almost believe her.

But if I stay too long,
it starts to feel unfamiliar again.

Like I’ve stepped into something
that doesn’t quite belong to me.

Or maybe
something I haven’t grown into yet.

The strangest part is
how convincing it all is.

How real each version feels
in the moment I’m holding it.

As if identity is just
a series of expressions
we decide to keep.

…

I step away.

It disappears,
just like that.

Later,
I’ll stand there again.

And it will be different.

It’s always different.

The mirror never lies.

But it never tells the full truth either.

05.05.2026