Stranger in the Glass

The morning mirror cracked at the corner,

streaked with water and fingerprints.

I blinked twice—

not quite ready to trust the face

that looked back tired,

hair thinning in ways I never named.

I traced the lines that weren’t mine

or maybe they were—just rewritten,

like a book I didn’t want to finish.

The stranger’s eyes caught mine,

paused, uncertain,

as if asking for a place to stay.

I turned away,

hoping the glass would forget me

if I forgot myself first.