The Warmth That Seals My Cracks

I am a mirror that has broken, yet I refuse to lie. In the shard on my left shoulder, I see the empty apartment where we argued. In the sliver along my collarbone, I see your hand reaching for mine across the kitchen table. In the glint of this brass buckle, I see myself—still here, still breathing, still warm.
The city outside the window hums its gray hymn of traffic and rain, but here the sun has chosen me. It pours over my caramel skin like honey poured slow, sealing every crack I thought would never mend. The leather straps across my chest are not a cage; they are the ribs of a second heart, beating in time with the one you gave me.
I sit on this worn sofa and let the light heal what the night tried to break. My phone trembles—your name flickers like a star through glass: 'Come home, I made us tea.' And I smile, because even a shattered mirror can still reflect love back to itself, brighter than before.

Editor: Kaleidoscope