A picture in the mirror is something I can't do without

You catch her before she catches herself — that split second where the mirror knows her better than she knows it's watching. Her reflection holds something unguarded, raw at the edges, the kind of honest that only surfaces when someone thinks they're alone.

The glass doubles everything: the curve of her shoulder, the particular way light lands across her skin, the small details that a direct shot would flatten into nothing. Distance becomes intimacy here.

You keep coming back to it. Not because it's perfect — because it isn't. Because she's mid-thought, mid-breath, and the mirror caught what a camera pointed straight at her never could.