My throat tightened.
I wanted to speak,
to say sorry—for every time I hated this reflection.
For every whisper of "you should've been better."
But he—I—just stood there.
Unmoving.
Unbreaking.
Unblaming.
And I realized…
I had always been waiting for someone
to come tell me,
"It's okay now."
But no one could do that.
Not God.
Not the people who left.
Not the ones I tried to love.
Not even the ones I hurt.
Only this person.
This bruised and breathing soul in the mirror.
Only he could set me free.
I stepped closer.
He mirrored me—every breath, every blink.
I raised a hand.
He did too.
Our fingertips met across the glass.
And instead of cracks,
the mirror melted into warmth.
Like light bending into water.
I whispered,
"I forgive you."
He smiled—no longer sad.
Then—
He vanished.
Not gone.
Not lost.
Just…
finally at peace.
And behind him,
in that place where the mirror had stood,
was a door.
Softly glowing.
Quietly open.
God looked at me.
I looked back.
And walked forward.
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