She didn’t swim… but her reflection? Oh honey, it did the backflip at 3 AM while sipping chamomom tea and crying into silence.

The water remembers her name—not because she looked hard enough, but because she dared to be quiet.

I watched from the window as dawn carved her skin with light.

You think this is art?

Nah.

It’s therapy.

(Also: if your mirror starts talking back… run.)