Air feels tight
as I try to breathe.
The room begins
to spin.
I fall to the floor,
grasping
for air.
Looking up,
I see my reflection,
the horror on my face
before I realize
the person in the mirror
is me.
Unrecognizable.
The tightness
begins to fade
as the person in the mirror
changes before me.
What was disheveled
now looks serene,
as if they know
something
I do not.
Then my
serene reflection
starts to speak,
not in tongues,
but in words
that calms my
pounding heart.
As I steady myself
to respond,
the words
begin to falter
with disbelief.
I cannot
drop my gaze
from this
reassuring energy.
Awakened by
this newfound comfort,
I reach out
to touch
this quiet aura
that resembles me
with a knowing smile.
The air shifts.
I am pulled
towards the mirror,
facing my reflection,
almost life-like,
holding their hands.
Then
we walk past
one another.
My reflection
taking my former
place,
as I am now
standing
where it once
Stood.
Now I am
in a place
where it feels light
and open,
where I can breathe
and my head is held high.
I look back
at the weight
that once pressed against my ribs,
at the nights
that would not let me rest.
They loosen.
Then I turn forward,
and this time,
I do not gasp.
I inhale.
And stay.
Knowing my past
does not define
my present.
Mar 2
Mar 2, 2026 at 9:18 AM UTC
Air feels tight
as I try to breathe.
The room begins
to spin.
I fall to the floor,
grasping
for air.
Looking up,
I see my reflection,
the horror on my face
before I realize
the person in the mirror
is me.
Unrecognizable.
The tightness
begins to fade
as the person in the mirror
changes before me.
What was disheveled
now looks serene,
as if they know
something
I do not.
Then my
serene reflection
starts to speak,
not in tongues,
but in words
that calms my
pounding heart.
As I steady myself
to respond,
the words
begin to falter
with disbelief.
I cannot
drop my gaze
from this
reassuring energy.
Awakened by
this newfound comfort,
I reach out
to touch
this quiet aura
that resembles me
with a knowing smile.
The air shifts.
I am pulled
towards the mirror,
facing my reflection,
almost life-like,
holding their hands.
Then
we walk past
one another.
My reflection
taking my former
place,
as I am now
standing
where it once
Stood.
Now I am
in a place
where it feels light
and open,
where I can breathe
and my head is held high.
I look back
at the weight
that once pressed against my ribs,
at the nights
that would not let me rest.
They loosen.
Then I turn forward,
and this time,
I do not gasp.
I inhale.
And stay.
Knowing my past
does not define
my present.
2/26/2026
