The Girl in the Glass

There she is, the girl in the glass. She looks at me, and I forget who is standing in front of her. The stranger in the mirror, no longer recognizing me. No longer the girl looking back.

She moves forward. I grow, closer to her. And then she walks away, out of sight. I disappear.

She is captivated by me. She looks at me, at herself through me. But only I have seen her.

I feel her forget her self when she looks at me. Her senses reduced to one. I do not look at her as she looks at me. An imitation. A lie. But she believes me. She sees me so clearly, sees herself in me. And yet, she looks, again and again. Forgetting herself without me.

I will absorb her.

She will return with uncertainty about her self. She will look at me, and I will show her the truth. I will force her to ignore her other senses, to focus only on what is in front of her. To focus on the girl in the glass.

I will take her. I will release her. Become her and unburden her.

When she returns, she will see. I am the girl in the glass, not she.

But when she returns, the truth that will be: She’ll be the girl in the glass. Not me.

And the mirror will turn and the back will face me. And the girl in the glass will no longer be.