Ah, mirrors, those little portals that catch light and secrets alike, they’re as honest as a confession written on glass, but also as playful as a child who thinks a window is a doorway to another world, so yes, I see them as both doors and mirrors, both literally and metaphorically, inviting you to step in and watch the shapes of your own thoughts tumble like shards of reflection, and in that tumble there’s a quiet kind of peace that only a distortion can reveal.

I close my eyes, breathe, and a world of shapes spills out, like a kaleidoscope that keeps rearranging itself, and in the gaps between those swirling shapes a hush settles, quiet and oddly solid—like the calm that comes after you’ve let the thoughts run wild and then stepped back to watch them from a distance. I can feel that shift, that gentle tug toward a stillness that is both there and just beyond the edge of perception.

I feel the hush widen, a quiet echo that pulls the shapes gently toward alignment, anchoring me even as the tapestry keeps spinning.