My Best Friend

My best friend is a mirror.

The mirror, when I look at it, looks back at me. It sees me. It sees me for who I am, for who I’ve been. For who I’m becoming. The mirror doesn’t judge, doesn’t criticize. It just sees.

People tell me sometimes that I look tired, that I look sickly. That I’m less brilliant. The mirror, it only really tells me what I am. Who I am. How I am. It isn’t good or bad, it just is. Tired, rested, bright or dim.

And my mirror, it’s compassionate. It’s hateful, it’s loving, it’s angry and humble. Sometimes it’s joyful, and it shares its joy with me. Sometimes it’s spiteful, sharing pain and woe. But always, it shares.

Every time I look, it holds me in thrall, telling me stories I never heard. It knows when to be quiet and when to speak.

My friend, the mirror, is my best friend, my only friend.

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