I See It in the TV Reflection
by Dawg
I see it in the TV reflection
when I’m watching something stupid and trying to laugh like I remember how.
It doesn’t want attention.
It wants presence.
It wants me to know it’s always watching–
not in judgment,
not in mercy.
Just watching.
Like it’s memorizing the way I fall apart
so it can wear my ruin better than I did.
I asked it once what it wanted.
Not out loud, just in my head,
in the way we pray to things we don’t believe in anymore.
And it answered.
Not with words–just a feeling,
like drowning in still water,
like choking on your own name.
It wanted to remember me.
Wanted to become me.
It wanted to be the part of me that never looked away.
Now I keep the curtains drawn even when the sun’s out,
because I don’t trust the shadows anymore,
don’t trust reflections,
don’t trust sleep.
Because it’s still there.
In the mirror.
In the vents.
In the space between light and wall.
And it knows the sound my teeth make when I grind them in my sleep.
Knows the names I won’t speak.
Knows the last thought I had before I decided to live another day.
And when I die–
it won’t leave.
It’ll stay.
And it’ll watch the next one.