Yesterday, I asked the mirror if it knew me. It fogged slightly, gave up pretending, then cleared. Outside, the moon pretended not to listen as if truth were something it had already survived. ​Today I said: Hey mirror, don’t tell everything at once. Leave some light for the moon to borrow. ​Tomorrow… I might cover the mirror and let the moon speak instead. Or ask the window what it remembers when I’m not there to reflect it. I’m not ready to marry the earth, but I’ve been dating the dust letting it gather softly on my shoulders, until the moon leans in and forgets what it came here to do.