Midnight is a Mirror

Midnight is a mirror.

Clouded with dust and debris,

and it’s too late to reach for the cleaner.

Through the grime,

you make out the shapes of what-ifs —

regrets pressed like fingerprints into the glass.

You see the conversation with your ex

still smudged across your identity.

You watch yourself sink

back into a grief

you swore had loosened its grip.

You tally the cost of comfort —

Amazon orders, daily treats —

small purchases that promised relief.

You see the friend who cared

standing just outside the frame,

while you were looking somewhere else.

You see the hobby you abandoned,

the one that gave you more joy

than all the doomscrolling combined.

You search the reflection

for that childhood photo of your first game,

but it’s faded at the edges.

You try to wish upon a star,

but the sky — like the mirror —

offers only your own cloudy face staring back.