A House of Glass, Still Missing a Mirror.

I lived in a house of glass,
yet somehow, a mirror was missing.
Every day, I saw my face
reflected in the walls—
but the display never felt complete.

My heart wouldn’t settle,
so I brought home a mirror
wrapped in old office paper—
chipped in corners, slightly worn,
as if someone had already
given up on it.

And the fate of the discarded
never glows like the first night—
no shimmer, no grace,
just the dull weight of being useful again.

That mirror is mine now,
but it once belonged to someone else.
And after me,
it’ll belong to someone new.

That’s the way the world works, isn’t it?
No one stays forever—
not mirrors,
not people.
The world always finds a crossroad
to place us on.