The fogless mirror in the shower catches a cloud and for the first time, I cannot stare back into my own eyes while drifting into steam-drenched think. A droplet peels from the rind of the showerhead and I see my full self in it; upside-down, tiny.
At the gallery, there are mirrors everywhere. A clay bowl reflects just in front of itself, and a boy standing on the ground before it asks his mom if she can see what he sees. When she shakes her head, he smiles at me.
“So. It’s a secret then.”
Yes, I suppose it is.
. . .
100 word posts to shake off the writing dust. ❤
rarasaur 