Sometimes I love my reflection.
Other times, he's just a bad friend—fixing his lips like he's about to interrupt me before I get my thought out good.
When I stop speaking, so does he.
What do you expect? He's me. ****.
In truth, the bills are paid, and all current business is handled. But something is missing. It’s obvious. He just looks and shakes his head—my reflection.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't care.
I've gotten used to the silence that follows me. It's peaceful.
When I make it home after a long day, if I touch something, I know where it is.
If I cook something, I know there's more, even if I don't eat it all.
He sits back and watches all of this.
My reflection. Half the time, I pay him no mind. Sometimes, it's better that way.
But sometimes, I wouldn't mind a bit of noise
