I wonder how people stand before a mirror – & in an instance – see themselves as they have always known it. An imitation of their physical presence, including all the details that they like and the details they are insecure about. They even see their beautiful attributes that they know no one else has seen in them – except for those courageous ones who came closer at an intimate proximity to kiss their forehead or wander in the galaxies inside their eyes.
Hazel brown skies & olive green orbits glow from an intimate distance to my mirror. Hazel as Adam & Moses. & green as deep as my grandmother’s olive oil tin pouring onto thyme. As if those eyes hold on to the geographies of your bloodlines. & they may be in my capillaries too.
Actually, they are.
Because my mirror is different. It knows me more than myself, and loves me more than I do. My mirror never unleashes my defaults and scars. My mirror is a ‘she’ – & she never reflects my insecurities. Because she does not see me with my eyes – she sees me with eyes of her own. & I reflect in her’s so beautifully – that I sometimes wonder if I do really look like her, or are her eyes so beautiful, & hence my reflection? They are eyes that kind of look like mine, but they see all that I don’t.
She is a mirror of spiritual presence, & not only the physical.
My mirror is my soul mate. Myself in a different body, and myself in a different scenario of a lifetime. She is a unique mirror – very untypical – because it never reflects me. It reflects everything that I am not, and everything that I aspire to be.
She is beautiful. & Sara, I call her, is my better half.