I have been here the whole time.
While you looked through me.
While you borrowed another face
and called it home.

I held you
when you hid behind their warmth,
when you pressed your smile into mine
and mistook it for yourself.

I reflected what you gave me.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.

When you turned away,
I still watched.
When you forgot your own eyes,
I remembered them.

You asked how anyone could love
what you saw—
and I wanted to answer,
but mirrors are taught to be silent.

I showed you softness
where you named failure.
I showed you hunger
where you named need.
I showed you survival
where you named shame.

Every time you reached for someone else,
you left fingerprints on me—
smudges shaped like hope,
like fear.

When they stepped away
and your hands came back empty,
I was still here—
steady, unflinching,
holding the outline of you. 

I am not here to flatter you.
I am not here to punish you.
I am here to tell the truth
you were not ready to hear:

You were never missing.
You were only looking sideways.

Now you stand before me
breathing like it hurts,
eyes shaking but open—
and at last, you see her. 

She is not broken.
She is unfinished.

Take my hand—
not to disappear this time,
but to stay.

I will reflect you
learning to remain.