This article was written by a student at my school, and she deserves full recognition because I can honestly say that this is one of the most beautiful things I have read in a while.
Though eyes I have, they have no sight; I can’t be seen in the black of the night; if I move left, then you move right; in looking glass, I come to life. Who am I? I am a mirror. To different people, I mean different things. To ordinary people, I am a helpful companion who prevents them from looking foolish at work. To the narcissists, I am the wise crystal ball that shows them how magnificent they are. To the tortured and self-loathing artists, I am the self-made reality they want to escape.
Jack bought me at a garage sale to facilitate his life. He gets out of bed, rushes to the bathroom, and makes funny faces at me as he brushes his teeth. He goes back to his bedroom to pick out some clothes. I show him how those jeans do not go well with that top. He heeds my advice and changes into something better. After lunch, I point out the piece of parsley between his teeth so as to save him the embarrassment. Sometimes I serve no other purpose than to decorate the halls of his home.
Dorian, however, enjoys my company a great deal more than Jack does. I allow him to speak to himself. For despite hours of symbolically gazing at his reflection, he cannot stand the thought of someone else truly peering upon him. He tells himself how beautiful he is and how intelligent he is. I try to be as objective as I can in my reflections but Dorian sees what he wants to see. What I find most peculiar is that he enjoys taking pictures of me; however, it is more probable that he is taking pictures of himself after I have shown him how handsome he looks this evening.
Finally comes poor self-loathing Sylvia. She cannot stand to look at me, although I am the most accurate depiction she will ever see of herself. As she looks into my depths, all Sylvia sees are her insecurities. She keeps me around for the same reason Jack does; she needs me to survive in her everyday life. It is not my fault I assure you, but her tortured soul clouds her judgment.
I live my life vicariously through other people. I am Jack, Dorian, and Sylvia. I age with each one of them and after they are gone, I am made young again with the arrival of my new host. I have seen toddlers grow into tormented teenagers, and teenagers grow into loving parents. In the cracks of my body and the black blotches on my skin, I carry all these lives within me.
Credits to Maria Atik.