recorded
you find yourself looking. the mirror is the long one in the hall. you have stood in front of it many times in waking, and you know the rust on its lower right corner the way you know the back of your hand.
the face in the mirror does not move when you move. it is not exactly your face. the eyes are your eyes, or someone in your family's. the mouth belongs to a woman you saw once on a tram. when you tilt your head, the face in the glass keeps watching you straight on. it is not unkind. it considers you. it is the way an older sister considers a younger.
after a while, it nods. you do not nod back. you stay very still, in case the face decides to speak; if it speaks, you understand, it will say something that you have always known about yourself but never permitted to be named. it does not speak. it lifts its hand. you do not lift yours. it does not seem to mind. somewhere in the glass, almost behind it, a window is open onto another room.
recorded on waking · undated