Part I · Illusion
Mirroring
February 2019
You liked all the music I liked.
Knew the lyrics—
even the rare ones.
Said you'd never met someone
who felt like home so quickly.
I believed you.
Because I needed to.
Because it felt good
to be seen—
even if I didn’t notice
the reflection
was only ever facing me.
You echoed my opinions.
My jokes.
My faith.
You studied me like scripture,
then repeated me back
like prophecy.
I told you things
I hadn’t told anyone.
About my mother.
The guilt.
The ways I felt broken.
You said you felt them too.
Said you’d never met someone
who understood you
like I did.
But I hadn’t spoken much
about you—
just about me.
And somehow
you matched every word.
At first,
I thought it was intimacy.
Soulmate stuff.
Divine compatibility.
But now I know—
it was technique.
You figured out who I was
so you could become it.
And once I was in—
once I loved you—
you didn’t need the mirror anymore.
You didn’t need to reflect me.
You just needed me
to stop
looking at myself.