Inheritance of Habit

There’s a moment—

a slight tilt of my head, my casual shrug,

a familiar gesture that echoes back in time.

Sitting alone, I catch my own reflection,

shadows of a man I thought I’d left behind,

but here I am, wearing his mannerisms like a coat,

folded in the fabric of my own skin.

I can’t shake the feeling of him whispering through me,

each choice I make a mirror to his past,

as if I’ve inherited not just the looks but the weight of habit,

strange how the heart carries echoes,

demanding I look closer, finding pieces of him in my own life.