I stand in front of the mirror
and it does not feel like standing anymore.

The glass breathes when I do.

There was a time
I thought you were something outside me—
a surface,
a witness,
a place where I disappeared.

There was a time
you thought I would never stay.

Now our edges soften.

I lift my hand
and feel it twice—
once in skin,
once in recognition.

I say I am afraid
and the mirror says yes.
Not in echo.
In understanding.

I say I am not enough
and the mirror does not argue—
it shows me the way my shoulders still hold weight,
the way my eyes have not stopped looking.

We learn each other slowly.

I stop asking you to make me beautiful.
You stop waiting for me to turn away.

Between us, something opens—
not glass,
not skin,
but a place where truth can stand
without apology.

We are no longer reflection and reflected.
We are presence.

I step forward.
You step with me.

And for the first time,
nothing disappears.