The GlassThe mirrors count with me—years passing, moments fading into memories. Every time I look, my eyes blur; what once felt familiar grows faint, dissolving. As if it pities me. Time doesn’t simply pass—it settles into my face. The lines are deep, the lines are sharp. My heart beats louder than ever, deeper than it has ever been. Each breath feels like the last, each moment already exhausted. The mirrors are seeing me off. Every face I see is not me—yet each one carries a trace of me.